


A New Life

by Wolf_dog



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Character Death, Domestic violence (John's father to John), Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Gay Sex, JUST A MINOR CHARACTER BUT ITS TRAUMATIC SO BEWARE, John's father hates him, Litters, M/M, Mpreg, Not quite modern times, Pups, Smut, Werewolf AU, Werewolf Magic, some rude language, soulmates (kinda)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2015-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-05 14:08:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/724158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolf_dog/pseuds/Wolf_dog
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is a werewolf whose father hates him and abuses him. Sherlock is a young Alpha who is starting a new pack to get away from his family and be independent. They meet at the markets, and a fragile connection is born. Set in a time before computers and phones, but not stone-age either.</p><p>*.*.*.</p><p>A gentle hand cupped his jaw, and John flinched out of pure habit and shock. He was unaccustomed to gentle touches. The hand just followed, insistent but not threatening. John watched Sherlock warily for a few moments, before cautiously relaxing into it. It felt nice, John thought. Pleasant, even.</p><p>A small smile crossed Sherlock’s face, and the tips of his fingers gently curled, brushing gently on the corner of John’s jaw. John’s eyes dipped half-closed for a moment, before opening fully again as John regained control of himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Okay! New story :D Not quite sure how this is going to turn out, but I hope you guys like it!!!

John Watson did not grow up like other kids. For starters, his father hated him. This was something that John learnt at the young age of four. This was not him deluding himself into believing it; his father actually hated him with a passion that caused his normally handsome face to contort into rage every time he saw John. In a werewolf pack as small as theirs, everybody knew everything. Everyone feared his father and no one dared to try and stop his father when he would beat John for the smallest of things. John didn’t know _why_ his father hated him, but he had always tried to please him and try his hardest, but it never seemed to be enough.

As John grew up, he wasn’t like others his age. He was not loud, or obnoxious or reckless. John was quiet, and thought things through before he did them, and did not have any friends. Everyone was too scared of his father – the Alpha – to go near him. He never fought back when his father beat him, never ran, never did _anything_. He was too frightened. And too hungry to even try. His father fed John irregularly – depending on whether or not John had _deserved_ it. At least once every three days – not even his father was that cruel to starve his son so completely.

When John was five, Harriet was born. At first, John had been terrified for his sister, but it turned out his worries weren’t needed. His father completely loved Harriet. It seemed that the only person his father hated was John. He had been relieved for his sister, but he only got to see her at night, when his father was sleeping, because his father didn’t want John anywhere _near_ his precious daughter. This was also when his father had made John wear a collar. It was thick and red, and no matter how much it chafed, he had never dared to remove it. Another way of his father showing everyone how much controlled John.

As John got older (and gained more and more scars from his father and withdrew so completely into himself to protect himself) his father gave John harder work, more responsibility, and expected – even wanted – John to fail so that he would have a reason to beat John.

Every Saturday since he turned ten, John went to the markets in town (a half hour walk) to get their supplies. Seeing as it was on the Watson’s land, it was odd, but not uncommon, to see strangers at the markets.

John was fifteen the first time he saw Sherlock Holmes. Of course, he didn’t know who it was, just that the stranger came every couple of weeks.

John had been curious about who he was, yet wary – as he was of everyone. It was something he had learnt to keep himself safe. He knew everyone in his pack, but this was not a pack member. No, he was different and interesting, but John would never dare go too close.

He was sixteen when he first spoke to Sherlock. It was a complete accident, and honestly, it had scared John so much he’d been trembling afterwards.

He had been quietly picking out fruit – only the best, he _had_ to have the best fruit, otherwise his father would injure him further – when a shadow loomed over him, then the stranger, that he had noticed around more often than not when John came here, was standing beside him, regarding the fruit with a certain amount of disdain. John suddenly felt that the collar on his neck stood out more than normal, but he didn’t dare try and adjust it.

“Here,” he said suddenly, holding out a perfect-looking apple to John.

John looked up at the stranger, then at the apple, wary. He wasn’t sure if he should trust the stranger. Looking up once more at the stranger, frowning slightly, he knew that he was being watched by the members of his pack. He was cautious about taking the apple – what if it had been poisoned, but, no, he couldn’t smell anything – but he was even more cautious about what this strange werewolf might do if he rejected the apple. Gingerly, he took the apple, their hands brushing for a moment, and he gave a small smile up at the man. “Thank you,” he murmured gratefully, looking up to meet the intense stare of the stranger, who looked oddly pleased with himself.

Almost without thought, he rubbed his hands over the apple in his hands, covering the stranger’s scent with his own. If his father smelt someone else other than the members of their pack, then both he and the stranger would pay for it. He didn’t want that.

Turning away from the stranger, John went to place it in the basket, when long pale fingers gently wrapped around his wrist and stopped him. He looked up in slight confusion and fear.

“It’s for _you_ ,” the stranger clarified, then his lips formed a snarl of disgust as he continued, “not that wretched father of yours.”

John hesitated. There was no way in hell that he could get away with eating the apple – his father would smell it on him. He gave a quick, fake, smile and drew the apple away from the basket, not wanting to upset the stranger. A waft of his scent washed over John. It smelt like mint and the musk of pine. A strange combination, but it made John relax slightly, comforting even. And what was that strange, warm feeling? Not something that he’d ever experienced before, that was for sure.

The stall keeper, a woman, coughed meaningfully, and John looked up at her. “Sorry,” he apologised softly, handing over the money for the fruit.

The stranger was still there, but when John glanced at him using his peripheral vision, he was staring intently at the shopkeeper. Odd. Mentally shrugging to himself, John turned and made his way to the next stall – meat. Thankfully, his father was not picky about meat, so there was no way that John could get this wrong if he got a few different selections.

His father also hadn’t beaten him recently – most likely because Harry was starting to sit up and make noises – so he had no new aches that he needed to worry about.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice the stranger keeping pace with him, and he didn’t notice that he was rubbing his thumb over the apple he had been given. He only noticed when he realised that some of his pack members were giving him strange looks. He was wary of the stranger – no matter how nice the stranger was currently acting, John didn’t trust many people – and he didn’t know what he wanted with John.

He bought the meat for his family – deer, a favourite of little Harriet’s, and some beef and pork – and kept walking around the markets, the dry, grassy ground crunching underneath his bare feet. His father didn’t spend any more money than was absolutely necessary on John, so he had always gone about bare foot.

John realised that he was dawdling, and that he didn’t really want to leave the stranger’s side. He felt … comfortable. Something that he wasn’t really accustomed to feeling, but it felt good, and John liked it.

“John!” The harsh shout came from John’s right, and his head turned, instinctively flinching at the cold tone.

His uncle was standing on the outskirts of the markets, looking impatient. His uncle angry was never a good thing.

Without a second thought, John shifted his basket in his arms and hurried off, only pausing briefly and looking back as a voice called after him.

“John!” The stranger waited until John turned his head and looked at him before giving a small smile and saying, “My name’s Sherlock.”

John gave a nod, and rushed off again. He kept his head down as he drew level to his uncle, and followed him silently back to their house, chancing one glance back towards the markets, but Sherlock was gone. 

* * *

John was eighteen when he first saw Sherlock get angry. With anyone else, he would have said ‘furious’ or ‘lost his temper’, but it was Sherlock, and he had a feeling that the werewolf was holding a lot of it back.

He was down in the markets, as usual. His father had decided that he was useless and needed to be taught a lesson. Like John didn’t already think lowly of himself. His father’s constant reminders just drove the fact home. He had a limp with his left leg – not the worst that he’d taken, but still pretty bad – and an ugly bruise on the left side of his jaw, and a matching one just below his eye on the same side. It hurt, but it was a dull pain that he could ignore. It had been weeks since his last beating, and he had begun to cautiously hope that his father was too busy with caring for Harry to beat him. He’d been wrong.

When Sherlock saw him, it was like a switch flipped. He had walked up to John calm enough, standing silently as he always did, and it only taken him a seconds for the werewolf to see John’s injuries. He released a low snarl, eyes flashing dangerously and fists clenching, making John automatically flinch.

His meetings with Sherlock had been peaceful so far, and he had only ever seen the calm side of Sherlock. This change reminded him only too well of his father, and he didn’t like the comparison.

“Who did this?” Sherlock demanded, turning to face John, who looked up at him with wary fearfulness.

“M-my father,” John stammered, eyes wide and starting to tremble slightly. The rest of the markets seemed to fade out, and he could only see Sherlock’s angry face.

Sherlock gave another wordless snarl, turning on his heel and taking a pace, long pale hands coming up to tug at dark locks, fury radiating from him. John stayed where he was, scared, and silently watched the other, more dominate, werewolf.

Sherlock spun back around and saw his frightened features, and his eyes snapped shut, hands clenching and unclenching rhythmically. With a loud exhale through his nose, Sherlock’s eyes opened once more. The rage was still very much present – in the way Sherlock’s body was held, and also in his eyes – but it was pushed back. “I’m sorry,” Sherlock said on a sigh, going back to stand beside John.

A confused frown crossed John’s face. Why would Sherlock be sorry? Head tilted in confusion, John didn’t say anything experience having taught him that it was better to be silent than to ask a question.

A gentle hand cupped his jaw, and John flinched out of pure habit and shock. He was unaccustomed to gentle touches. The hand just followed, insistent but not threatening. John watched Sherlock warily for a few moments, before cautiously relaxing into it. It felt nice, John thought. Pleasant, even.

A small smile crossed Sherlock’s face, and the tips of his fingers gently curled, brushing gently on the corner of John’s jaw. John’s eyes dipped half-closed for a moment, before opening fully again as John regained control of himself.

A low warning growl reached his ears, and John snapped back to himself, jerking away from Sherlock’s hand, looking around nervously to see who had saw. Many of his pack members were staring at them, and John knew that his father would be hearing about this. He looked back at Sherlock to see him frowning, and John took a step back.

“I-I should finish shopping,” John muttered, meeting Sherlock’s gaze for a moment before dropping it.

Without waiting for a response, John turned and rushed off, clutching his hand-made wooden basket.

* * *

  
It was only a few weeks later until John came limping into the markets, head down, with the intent purpose of looking for Sherlock.

He had a message from his father that he was embarrassed to have to say, but if he didn’t he feared what would have to both him and Sherlock. But mostly Sherlock. He didn’t know what pack that Sherlock belonged to – or even if he was part of a pack – but his father’s was pretty big and he didn’t like the thought of a war over something like this.

He didn’t necessarily have to look for Sherlock, for he knew that if Sherlock was here he would find John as he always did.

So, John waited, taking his time with the shopping. He was looking over the selection of pears – so early in the season for them, and he knew how Harry liked them so he hoped that would please his father – when Sherlock appeared by his side and wordlessly picked out a pear and handed it to John.

John smiled. It was sort of customary now, and John took the fruit, placing it carefully into the basket. If he got the chance, he would eat it later. John cleared his throat and let out a breath.

“I, uh,” John started awkwardly, looking up at Sherlock briefly before returning his gaze to the selection of fruit. He cleared his throat softly. “My-my father,” he paused at Sherlock’s short growl of disgust, before continuing onwards, “gave me a message to give to you.” A flush crawled up his cheeks and determinedly kept his gaze away as he picked up another pear and placed it carefully in his basket. He huffed out a nervous breath, shifting his feet. This was so awkward. “He told me that if-if you didn’t intend to have me as a m-mate, then y-you needed to leave,” John stuttered.

There was silence, in which John selected a few more pears, and then paid for the fruit, and chanced a glance at Sherlock to find the werewolf staring at him intently.

“You don’t think you’re worth it,” Sherlock stated, eyebrows furrowing.

“I’m not worth anything,” John said softly, the lesson firmly implanted in his mind by his father.

Sherlock gave another low growl, and John flinched, shuffling away slightly, gaze dropping to the ground. A hand cups his jaw, fingers brushing firmly yet gently into the skin on the corner of his jaw, tilting his head upright. Sherlock just stares at him for a few moments, before he drops his hand, fingers trailing lightly down John’s neck and making him shiver, and then turns and stalks off without a word.

 _‘Goodbye, Sherlock,’_ John thinks sadly, and stays for a moment, watching after the only werewolf that has ever treated him gently, a hand coming up to press where Sherlock’s fingers used to be, before he shook his head at himself and finished up with the shopping, feeling inexplicably sad.


	2. Freedom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for all the comments and Kudos! I'm so thrilled!!   
> Almost 9 whole pages on Word! :) Longest chapter I've ever written! Most of my chapters are going to aim to be this long (or even longer if possible) and I'll try and update at least once every fortnight! Enjoy and please tell me what you think!

John sat on a soft dark brown couch, head down and trembling next to his sneering father. Earlier that morning, he had been told to shower and wash thoroughly, shave, eat something, pack his things and get the fuck into the car. He’d done as ordered, confused but not willing to risk a beating to ask. During the five hour car ride, his father had disgustedly told him that he had been requested as a mate. He hadn’t said by whom, or which pack they belonged to.

As a part of werewolf law, unless you are already mated, any werewolf who is requested as a mate – no matter if the packs are enemies, or if they’re an alpha – they cannot be denied their chosen mate unless there is good reason. There have only been a few times in recorded werewolf history in which a requested mate had been denied. But his father would never do that – anything to get rid of John.

When he’d first been told that he had been requested, at first he had hopefully thought that it might be Sherlock, but then he’d firmly squished that hope. John had been back to the markets several times since their conversation, and Sherlock had never been there. He didn’t want John. Who would? John couldn’t blame him. He just hoped that whoever had requested him would be nice. They had a nice, simple two-story house, so perhaps it was just a small pack?

They’d been sitting there for almost half an hour before the front door slammed open. John automatically flinched, keeping his gaze firmly on the wooden floorboards where his bare feet rested. His hands twisted nervously in his lap, a habit he had never been able to break. Footsteps came quickly towards them, and John guessed that the owner was tall, judging by the pauses between them and the speed at which they were coming to join them with.

John caught a whiff of their scent a mere moment before a deep voice spoke. “Ah, Watson’s. I trust your journey was pleasant?”

John’s heart missed a beat, as his mind fit together the smell and the voice. Looking up cautiously, John couldn’t help the relief and happiness that flooded him as he saw Sherlock staring down at him intently. His happiness was quickly tampered with worry as he saw the blood on Sherlock’s cheek. Frowning slightly, drowning out his father speaking to Sherlock, his eyes scanned down Sherlock’s body, identifying even more wounds. Shoulder, right hand (possible fractured wrist?) and some around the torso (Sherlock was clothed, but there were dark stains appearing that worried John even more). There was sure to be even more that he couldn’t see, and he found himself surprised with the feeling of wanting to help heal Sherlock’s wounds. In his (now old) pack, he had helped their doctor and picked up quite a few skills. He was, apparently, a natural at healing others.

John broke out of his thoughts to find that his father was gone and Sherlock was staring at him. He blinked rapidly, wondering how long he’d just been sitting here, and berated himself. He didn’t really know Sherlock. While Sherlock had never been anything but nice to him, fear of others was instinctual to him

“John?” Sherlock’s voice was soft, soothing, and it made John relax.

He met Sherlock’s gaze and let a small smile curl his lips upwards. “You’re hurt,” he blurted out – the first thing that had come into his head - and then he shrunk backwards into the couch, hands twisting together again.

Sherlock nodded with a small smile, and took a few steps towards John. John watched him wary eyes. “I am,” Sherlock conceded, a hand rising towards John’s neck, and John tried his hardest not to flinch away, “just a border skirmish. Nothing too serious,” Sherlock reassured him, his fingers curling and gently caressing the corner of John’s jaw before dropping, and there was a click and John’s eyes widened.

His collar! He blinked with shock as the thick collar fell loose from his neck and onto his lap. His hand came up and he rubbed at the tender skin where his collar had pressed for thirteen years. John looked up as Sherlock knelt in front of him, gratitude flowing through him.

Sherlock picked up the collar and examined it, before snorting and tossing it behind him almost carelessly. It landed in the fireplace, the fire inside quickly devouring it as John watched. He looked back at Sherlock with a smile. “Thank you,” he said softly.

Sherlock gave him a smile. “You’re my mate now, John. No one’s going to harm you here, and I won’t let that disgusting father of yours to have any claim on you,” Sherlock told him, and John could read the sincerity in Sherlock’s face.

John hesitated a moment before reaching out and gently touched the blood on Sherlock’s cheek. “I-I could help heal you,” John offered, nervous.

Sherlock regarded him silently for a few moments, before he nodded and stood, extending his non-injured hand to John. John hesitated a moment before slowly placing his hand in Sherlock’s. They fit together. John’s short tanned hand seemed to be the perfect size for Sherlock’s long pale one to wrap around.

John looked up as Sherlock gently tugged on his hand and followed the tall werewolf through the hall and up a flight of stairs. “This is the Alpha house,” Sherlock was telling him, “only a few others live here with us. Mrs Hudson – she’s the cook -, Lestrade – he’s my second-in-command -, Molly – she helps our doctor – and Mike – pack doctor. The rest of my pack live in their own separate houses near here.”

John nodded, hoping that he would be able to remember all of that, and stopped as Sherlock did outside of a door. Sherlock _had_ to be the alpha, John realised. He looked up at his mate and Sherlock gave him a small smile. Sherlock reached out with his injured hand to unlock the door, and John reacted faster than he thought he could, hand shooting out and turning the door handle for him, pushing the door open.

John flushed as he realised what he had just done, and look down, mumbling, “You shouldn’t use that hand while it’s injured.”

“Thank you,” Sherlock’s soft voice had John looking up tentatively.

Following Sherlock into the room, John looked around. A large king-sized bed was in the top left corner, near the window, and there was a desk a few meters down, and a fireplace in front of a couch. The walls to John’s left were lined with bookcases, full to the brim, and on the right were two doors. He followed Sherlock inside and sat gingerly on the bed, feeling dirty compared to the room he was in. It was extremely soft and he looked up as Sherlock let go of his hand. He waited silently as Sherlock disappeared behind one of the doors, and looked around once more, before Sherlock reappeared a box in his hand, which John quickly identified as a first-aid kit.

He passed it to John, watching as John deftly unclipped the kit and peered inside. “You might want to take your shirt off?” it came out as a question, his voice soft as he looked back up at Sherlock, and gestured for him to sit down on the bed next to him. His heart was thumping faster, unsure if Sherlock would comply or not.

Sherlock didn’t even hesitate to sit and firmly grab the hem of his shirt, pulling it up and over his head. John’s breath caught at the sight of the scratches, blood trailing downwards on his chest, as well as old scars. Sherlock had gotten into quite a fair few fights by the look of it.

Realising that he was staring, John flushed and rummaged around in the kit for the disinfectant wipes, and then placed the kit carefully down on the bed, and turned to fully face Sherlock. “It’s going to sting,” John murmured, looking up and meeting Sherlock’s gaze for a moment before beginning to wipe down all of Sherlock’s cuts.

Most of them, he was relieved to discover, were just scrapes and stopped bleeding once he wiped over them. A few needed bandaids and none stitches. Once that was done, John took a glance over Sherlock’s back and saw none, so he turned his attention to Sherlock’s wrist, gently picking it up and bringing it so it was between them. His attention was fully focussed on the task, and he gently prodded at Sherlock’s wrist, making sure that it wasn’t fractured or broken. He could feel the swelling, but nothing else. That was good. Pleased, he grabbed the bandages and wrapped it up firmly.

Sitting back, he tilted his head to the side as he looked up at Sherlock’s face. He was startled to find that Sherlock had his eyes closed. He bit his lip nervously, gently placing Sherlock’s hand back down on the (his?) Alpha’s lap.

Sherlock’s eyes opened, and he looked down at John, a small smile on his lips and his whole face soft. John blinked in shock. He’d never – _ever_ – been looked at like that. It was strange, yet nice. It made his insides feel warm, and John hastily looked away, confused by his own feelings.

“I-I think that’s it,” John stuttered, before gesturing to Sherlock’s legs, “Unless you’ve got more…?”

Sherlock’s hand came up and cupped his jaw, fingers curling into the corner of John’s jaw in an almost familiar motion now. Looking up, he saw Sherlock looking down at him with a smile, the tips of his fingers gently stroking John’s skin. “That’s it,” Sherlock told him, “thank you, John.”

John couldn’t help a small smile of genuine happiness. It was so rare for him to get appreciation for what he did, and it meant a lot, for him, to have Sherlock thank him. “It’s the least I could do,” John said softly, years of fear not letting his voice raise, “after all, you _did_ take me away from my father.”

Not dad. Never a dad. To Harry, yes. John? Never. He was John’s biological father and Alpha ( _past_ Alpha. Sherlock was his Alpha now) and that was all.

Sherlock’s fingertips pressed against John’s skin firmer, and John realised that his mate’s eyes were closed and face tight with anger. Unsure, John just sat for a moment, before hesitantly reaching up and lightly pressing his hand over Sherlock’s on his jaw. Sherlock’s eyes opened, and he looked down at John. Giving a soft sigh, Sherlock’s face slowly relaxed.

John gave a confused frown. What had gotten Sherlock so mad? Was it his father? It seemed so, but why would Sherlock be so angry about that? It wasn’t like his father had ever actually hurt _Sherlock_.

Tilting his head to the side, he smiled slightly as Sherlock’s fingers curled and stroked his jaw again. He liked the feel of that. It was nice.

“Want to explore?” Sherlock asked softly, a smile now on his face as John leant slightly into his touch.

John brightened. Despite the way his father abused him, he had always been curious by nature. It had gotten him into a lot of trouble at times, but most of the time it had been worth it. He nodded eagerly and got the joy of hearing Sherlock laugh. He was reluctant to move his head away from Sherlock’s hand – the touches felt nice – but reluctantly drew his head and his hand away from Sherlock’s hand and saw Sherlock’s smile.

“I’ll show you around, and by then dinner will be ready,” Sherlock told him, standing up with ease and waiting for John to stand as well before striding to the door and opening it for John.

* * *

Even though the Alpha house only had two stories, John was sure that he would end up getting lost if he had to navigate it himself. While he hadn’t told Sherlock this, he was sure that his facial expression had said it all, as the (his?) alpha just laughed and told John reassuringly that he could always ask Sherlock to take him to places within the household.

John sat uncomfortably at the dinner table. It wasn’t that the chairs were uncomfortable or that the food was bad – quite the opposite, actually – it was just that he was surrounded by people that he didn’t know. While they were his pack now, he didn’t know what they were like and that always made him on edge.

They were sitting in the dining room, sitting around a long rectangular table made out of dark oak. Sherlock sat at the head, John to the left of him, at a ninety degree angle. Next to him was the cook, a nice old lady with a bright smile. On Sherlock’s right was a middle-aged man with grey and white hair and a fair tan. He seemed to like to laugh and make jokes, but John also got the impression that he was quite serious. Next to him was a girl – younger than John and Sherlock – with long brown hair that she had up in a pony-tail. She kind of reminded John of a mouse, the way she was shy and got a bit flustered when the older male with grey and white hair teased her. There was another male sitting next to her. He was round-ish and looked about John’s age, but he had round glasses and brown hair.

John watched them all silently as he ate slowly, not wanting to seem rude, but not sure how much his stomach could handle after being starved for so long. A proper meal seemed like a bit of a feat to accomplish. He would try.

There wasn’t really a lot of them – only six in total – but it felt like a lot to John, especially them all being strangers (except Sherlock, of course). Sherlock’s foot would brush against the side of his own from time to time, giving a strange sense of comfort. He didn’t enter the conversation, and it was almost as if the others didn’t even know he was there. Except, he knew they saw him. Occasionally, they would throw him curious glances, and he realised that _they_ didn’t know who _he_ was.

Huh. Had Sherlock not told them about him? That was… interesting. Being the alpha, John supposed that Sherlock didn’t necessarily _have_ to tell his pack about John, but he was sure that there would be questions, and he didn’t really want to deal with that when he still didn’t know these people. If they thought that he might be a threat… He didn’t even want to consider those possibilities.

The man with grey and white hair, (Lestrade? That’s what he had heard others call him) was giving him strange looks. Intimidating him.

John kept his gaze down on his plate, cutting up another piece of beef – it was nice and medium rare and so delicious that John felt it would be a waste if he couldn’t finish it – as he stretched out his leg slightly, seeking Sherlock’s bare foot with his own. The brush of skin on skin contact soothed him slightly, and he saw Sherlock cast him a glance, and he looked up at him for a moment before returning to his food and watching the others.

Sherlock’s foot nudged upwards underneath his after a while, and John looked up to see that, while he had been lost in his own head, the others had cleared out and taken their dishes with them.

“You alright?” Sherlock asked, his voice soft.

It was a tone that John had never heard on anyone else – not even his mother – and he found that he liked it. He set down his cutlery on his plate – he didn’t think he could eat anymore, no matter how delicious it was – and gave a nod with a small, hesitant, smile. “Yeah. It’s just a bit not. I’m… not really used to-to kindness,” John mumbled, looking back down at his plate and fiddling with the cutlery until it was perfectly in the middle.

Sherlock was silent for a while, and then a hand came over and rested on top of John’s, stilling his anxious fiddling. John looked up and met Sherlock’s calm gaze. He was perfectly suited to being an alpha, even though he was only older than John by a little bit, John realised, and he relaxed slightly. Sherlock wouldn’t let others harm him. He was _safe_ here.

Sherlock stood and offered his non-injured hand to John, who took it and stood with only a slight hesitation. He looked back at the table and fidgeted. “What about the dishes?” he asked.

Sherlock waved his other hand dismissively. “The others will collect them,” he told John before turning without waiting for a response and striding off down the hall, hand firmly grasping John’s and his pace slow enough so that John could keep up.

* * *

The shower was heaven. The water temperature wasn’t temperamental and stayed comfortably warm. He was hesitant about using the body wash – it was _Sherlock’s_ – but he supposed that if Sherlock was against it, he would have told him. Right?

After washing himself, the smell of the wash some-what familiar, John rinsed thoroughly and then turned off the taps reluctantly. His hair didn’t need to be washed – he’d washed it that morning before getting in the car – and so there was no excuse for him to stay in there. Maybe he could ask Sherlock if he could use the bath sometime…

The bathroom wasn’t pure white like John had been expecting. It had warm blues and greens, and the cabinets were dark oak with golden handles. John found that he like it an awful lot.

After a quick search for a towel, he rubbed himself dry and avoided looking in the mirror ( _ugly, useless, waste of space, scarred forever)_ as he put on the clothes of Sherlock’s he had brought in. He had his own sleeping clothes, but as soon as Sherlock had seen his ratty, holey t-shirt and pants, he had quickly snatched them off John, dumped them in the fire, and shoved a loose shirt and pants at him, demanding he use those instead.

John didn’t really mind – the smell of Sherlock was comforting. Both the shower gel and the strong scent of _pure_ Sherlock on the clothes made John feel safe.

Gathering up his dirty clothes, he opened the bathroom door and walked out. He hadn’t bothered in locking it (he had been tempted, but decided that maybe he could test this. Sherlock hadn’t even _tried_ the knob, and John felt just that bit safer). Looking around, he saw that the fire was still going and that Sherlock’s bedside lamp was on. Sherlock himself was lying down in the bed, propped up into a half-sitting position on his pillows, a book in hand as he read. Glancing around briefly, John spotted a dirty laundry hamper, and placed his clothes in there before making his was silently to the bed. He had absolutely no doubt that Sherlock knew precisely where he was, but the (his?) Alpha hadn’t moved, besides from turning his page.

John hesitated only for a moment on the opposite side of the bed, before slipping under the covers. The bed was oh-so-soft, as were the pillows, and the sheets felt like heaven against his skin. This was the complete opposite of what he was used to. Hesitating again, it took him a few second to gather his courage, before awkwardly shuffling over till he was at Sherlock’s side, just touching. Sherlock looked down at him for a moment, gave a small smile, and shifted so that they were touching more firmly.

Resting his head back down onto the pillow, John relaxed into Sherlock’s side, and tugged the blanket up a bit, then closed his eyes. It was peaceful, to just lie here with Sherlock, the soft light of the lamp, the warmth of the fire, the comfort of the bed, and the solid presence of Sherlock.

All was good, he decided as he began to drift off into sleep.

* * *

When John woke, the lamp was off, the fire was just embers, and Sherlock’s injured arm (he could tell from the extra weight of the bandage) was draped over his side as the werewolf pressed close, most of their bodies touching. He was thirsty. _Extremely_ thirsty.

Wiggling slightly, he froze as Sherlock gave a soft growl and shifted slightly before settling down again. John waited a few moments before trying to get out again. This time, he managed to get out from under Sherlock’s grasp, and shivered at the coldness compared to the warmth of snuggling with Sherlock. Sherlock gave another growl, this one ending as a whine, hand shifting in the sheets. Meeting with the pillow, John watched as Sherlock clutched it and fell back asleep. John sat there and just watched Sherlock for a while, watching the peaceful features and the even breaths.

Finally, when he couldn’t ignore his thirst any more, he carefully shuffled off of the bed and onto the floor. Sherlock’s clothes were way too big for him, and they hung way past his wrists, and they hung loosely on his waist and he stepped on the ends as he made his way to the door. Taking his time, he gently turned the knob and opened it. The hallway was dark, which was a relief. Not that he cared if Sherlock saw him sneaking out, but he didn’t want to wake the other werewolf from his sleep; especially when he looked so relaxed.

Slipping out onto the hardwood floors of the hall, he softly shut the door behind him and hesitated a moment before turning to the left and walking as quietly as he could down the hall (which, really, wasn’t that quiet with the material of Sherlock’s clothes making a soft sound as it brushed against the floor.

Now that he was up, he was wary of disturbing the others more, well aware that it was around one in the morning. Sherlock had told him during the tour that they had the only room on the top story, and the other slept on the first floor. Even if he didn’t wake Sherlock, he had more of a chance of waking the others when he went searching for cups. In particular, he didn’t want to wake Lestrade. The other seemed to be extremely suspicious of him and John didn’t want to have that particular encounter unless Sherlock was both near and awake.

Creeping into the kitchen, he looked around before making his way to the cupboards underneath the sink. Lucky guess, he thought with a small smile as he found the cups and picked one out. Carefully he shut the cupboard and stood up straight, holding his cup under the tap and turned it on. Nice, cold water, he thought eagerly as he turned off the tap and took a long drink. Delicious. The water was finished too quickly, so he refilled it and turned off the tap and drank the rest of the water. Perfect.

A small smile on his face, his thirst now quenched, John started, a flash of fear flooding through him at the sound of a low, gruff throat being cleared. Whirling around, John half-expected his father to be standing there. No, but it was Lestrade. Shifting nervously under the older man’s stern glare, John felt his heart begin to beat quicker. What did he want?

“Who are you?” Lestrade growled at him.

John flinched, eyes flicking to the floor momentarily before lifting again out of pure force of will (he was the _alpha’s_ mate). “J-John,” he stuttered, sure that the other man could clearly see his nervousness.

“What are you doing here?” The question was harsh, demanding an explanation.

The tone reminded him too much of his father, and that seemed to be it for him. He started to tremble, fingers firmly clutching the cup as the image of his father replaced Lestrade in front of him. His father’s disapproving scowl, the menace in his eyes, the fear of knowing that he was going to be beaten up. He saw the image his father lift a hand, and flinched back, expecting a blow.

“John!” the voice broke through his terrified haze. Sherlock. Sherlock would save him. Wouldn’t he?

Sherlock appeared next to the image of his father, and leant close, snarling something softly, and the image broke away, revealing a confused and slightly scared looking Lestrade. It was just an illusion. Somehow, that didn’t make him feel better. He was still trembling, and he could clearly see the rage in Sherlock. The tenseness of his body and face, the firm scowl and the hardness in his eyes.

“John,” his voice was softer now, more gentle, as Sherlock walked towards him and took the cup from his hand, not looking away from John’s face as he set it down behind them.

The trembling eased slightly. Sherlock wouldn’t hurt him. No, he would protect John.

Looking up at Sherlock, John relaxed as Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him, and leant into the strong, lean chest.

“Let’s go back to bed,” Sherlock murmured softly, face pressing into his hair for a few moments, “you’re safe with me.”

John nodded into Sherlock’s chest, not really wanting to leave the embrace, but knowing that the sooner they got to the bedroom, the sooner he could sleep in Sherlock’s embrace. Breathing in Sherlock’s scent deeply, he let it out slowly and reluctantly pulled back.

Sherlock took hold of his hand with his uninjured one, and gave it a firm squeeze before leading the way back up the stairs and into their dark bedroom.

Crawling into the bed after Sherlock, he waited until Sherlock had lay down and was comfortable before snuggling in as close as he dared, not wanting to put pressure on Sherlock’s injuries, lying on his side. Sherlock rolled over, injured arm resting over John’s back once more, and rested his head on the pillow, John’s nose lightly touching the skin of his neck.

“Thank you,” John murmured, eyes closed as he relaxed.

“You’re safe with me, John. I won’t let anyone – or any _thing_ – hurt you,” Sherlock murmured back, giving a yawn.

John squeezed his eyes tighter closed, emotions rolling through him so strongly it was nearly painful. No-one had ever promised him something like that – hell, no-one had even _tried_. For Sherlock to say something like that, and to actually mean it, it meant a lot to John. Sherlock was so different to everything that John had ever known. John would do everything he could to stay here with Sherlock and make him happy.

Aware that Sherlock was already asleep, deep even breaths that pressed against John’s chest and swished through his hair, John relaxed and cautiously placed an arm low on Sherlock’s hip, and let Sherlock’s soothing heartbeat and breaths lull him into the peace of sleep.


	3. John's Worth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven in a bit pages, but oh well! Hope you guys enjoy it and clears up some questions! Please comment and tell me what you think, and Kudos if you think it's worth it! 
> 
> This has only been editted by Word, so any mistakes you find are my own!
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own Sherlock Holmes or any of their characters!!

John woke alone in the bed. Blinking his eyes open, John inhaled deeply, and found that Sherlock hadn’t been in the bed for a few hours. Sitting up, John rubbed at his eyes groggily and looked around. Empty. Frowning slightly, John wondered what he should do, and pressed Sherlock’s shirt he was wearing to his nose, inhaling Sherlock’s scent of mint and musky pine. It soothed him slightly. Sherlock wouldn’t just leave him in the house all alone, especially after last night.

The sheets were warm, and John reluctantly pulled them off of him and swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling a flash of amusement as stared down. He could hardly see his feet, just his toes, the rest covered by Sherlock’s black pants. Standing upright, John realised with amusement that the pillows were skewed to one side – the side Sherlock slept on – as were the sheets. Leaning over, John straightened both of them, and tucked the sheets in and stood back with a nod. There. He could be a good mate. He _would_.

Going over to his single suitcase (it was rather sad that all his possessions fit inside a single suitcase) he realised that at one point he would have to move all his stuff inside Sherlock’s draws and wardrobe, but that could wait until later, when he could (hopefully) discuss it with Sherlock. Laying the suitcase on its back, he unzipped it completely and pulled open the top, gazing at the rather sad selection of t-shirts and shorts. Picking out his most un-ruined shirt (a dark blue long sleeved button up) and trousers (long black ones) he zipped the case back up and stood, going into the bathroom and shutting the door softly.

As he got changed, he realised with surprise how comfortable he already was with Sherlock and sharing the same room. The rest of the pack, he was wary of ( _especially_ Lestrade) but just not Sherlock. Huh. Probably because he knew that Sherlock would never harm him.

Opening the door, John dumped his clothes in the dirty washing hamper and decided that maybe he should try wash those later, if Sherlock didn’t have anything planned.

Turning at the sound of the door opening, John gave a smile as he saw Sherlock. He looked exhausted, John noticed, and his smile dropped from worry. Walking over, he tilted his head curiously at Sherlock in a silent question. Sherlock gave him a tired smile, and John noted that there was dirt on his face. Reaching up before he could think about it, John wiped it off with his thumb, and gave Sherlock a hesitant smile.

Sherlock’s smile softened, and John flushed slightly, shifting his feet. Sherlock gave a soft sigh, and held his hand out to John. John looked down at his hand with a small frown. “You’re already healed?” John asked in confusion, looking back up at Sherlock, but gently took his hand anyway.

“Yeah. I changed today,” Sherlock said, and John’s confusion cleared.

His father had never let him change into his wolf that often, but he knew that the effects of changing could also help them heal even faster than they already did.

“Breakfast?” Sherlock asked, squeezing his hand and breaking him from his thoughts.

“That would be great,” John replied, giving Sherlock’s hand a soft squeeze in return.

Following Sherlock back down the hall and stairs, he felt nervous as they approached the dining room, but just looked up at Sherlock and took a deep breath before continuing on. The lay was laid with food already stacked on their plates – fruit and mushrooms and fluffy white stuff on some fluffy-looking brown bread looking thing which he didn’t recognise which had a brown liquid of some kind drizzled over both the fluffy white thing and the fluffy brown thing – and the some members of living in the alpha house sitting there, as well as some that he didn’t recognise that were standing with their plates.

Lestrade straightened in his seat as they entered, and the room fell quiet, all attention fixed on them. John was unnerved, but tried not to show it, instead tightening his grip on Sherlock slightly and receiving a light squeeze in return.

“Everyone, this is John Watson, my mate,” Sherlock announced to the room, his voice carrying clearly and strongly. John was envious of his complete calm.

It continued to be quiet for a few moments longer, until Molly piped up, “Why didn’t you tell us earlier?”

A chorus of, “Yeah,” broke out across the room, people adding their thoughts of this to their alpha.

“Enough!” Sherlock snapped, holding up his hand, the room immediately going silent. “As we all know, for the past few weeks there have been multiple attacks on our borders. As a result of that, there has been no time to tell you that I was planning on having John as my mate.”

John blinked. Attacks? Were they serious? Was that why Sherlock had been injured when he’d first come to the house? He would have to ask him later. John stayed silent as Sherlock led him to their spots and they sat down.

Slowly, people began to talk amongst themselves again, shooting John curious looks every now and again. John curiously inspected the food on his plate. What was the fluffy white stuff? And the brown thing, that almost looked like bread, but … not.

Picking up his fork, he poked at the white stuff. His fork slid right through it, and he jerked it back. Bringing it up to his mouth, he licked it off, and his eyes widened as he made a sound of surprise, looking at Sherlock. “It’s sweet!” he exclaimed, starting to smile.

Sherlock gave a confused frown, though his lips were quirking upwards in amusement. “It’s cream,” Sherlock told him, “Have you never…?” Sherlock broke off then scowled, “of course, I doubt that your father would have ever let you have sweets.”

Curious now, John picked up the knife and cut up the brown thing, and scooped some cream on it, before holding it up, “What’s the brown thing?” he asked Sherlock.

“Pancake,” Sherlock told him, cutting up some of his own and watching John.

Pancake. Funny word. Shoving it into his mouth, eager, his eyes widened, and he looked over at Sherlock, who was smiling. John made a series of happy, eager, muffled noises and brushed his foot against Sherlock’s under the table, at the delicious sweetness of the pancake and cream in his mouth.

Sherlock chuckled softly as John began to devour the pancake eagerly. This had to be the most delicious thing that he had ever eaten! Not that it was that hard, but he pushed that thought away.

When he finished with the pancake, he started on the fruit (those, he could recognise), and dragged them through the left-over cream and brown liquid on his plate before eating them. It made the already sweet fruit even sweeter, and John loved it.

Looking up when he had finished the whole plate (something he considered an achievement), he found Sherlock watching him with amusement, and that there were still Lestrade in the room.

“Sorry,” John muttered, embarrassed, fiddling with his cutlery.

“It’s nice to know you enjoyed it,” Sherlock chuckled, brushing his bare foot against John’s.

“It was delicious,” John said honestly with a slight smile.

Lestrade cleared his throat, and John looked up at him, straightening in his seat slightly. “The patrol?” Lestrade asked, looking uncomfortable.

John looked back at Sherlock waiting in silence. “I’ll lead this one,” Sherlock decided. “I’ll take Molly, Kevin, Carla and …” Sherlock trailed off in thought, eyes narrowed, and John jumped on the chance.

“Can I go?” the words jumped out of his mouth before he could think about it, then he shrunk back in his seat as Sherlock looked at him in surprise, embarrassed. “I haven’t been in wolf-form for a while,” he said, dropping his gaze and shrugging.

 _Four years…_ his mind helpfully supplied him, but he pushed that back. He wanted to show Sherlock and the pack that he could be useful too.  

“Of course,” Sherlock said, and John looked up in surprise, smiling.

“I’ll go get them, then,” Lestrade replied, and quickly left the kitchen.

“Should I was the dishes?” John asked, biting his lower lip.

Sherlock shook his head. “No. Take them into the kitchen and leave them by the sink, Mrs Hudson will wash them,” Sherlock ordered, and John nodded, standing and collecting both of their dishes.

Making his way into the kitchen, John felt guilty just leaving them there, but he turned and went back to the dining room, where Sherlock was standing by the table.

Sherlock held out his hand, and John walked over and took it without hesitation, smiling up at Sherlock. Bending slightly, Sherlock pressed a kiss to the top of his head before straightening and leading John down a hallway and outside the back of the house. Slightly dazed, John blinked rapidly, but quickly determined that he liked the affection.

Once outside, John looked around before focussing back on Sherlock. The other werewolf had let go of John’s hand and was stripping out of his clothes. John flushed and turned his back before doing the same. It was easier to strip before transforming because then their clothes would be ripped and useless.

He was unsure that, after suppressing his wolf side for so long (so that the insane _need_ to transform wouldn’t consume him and drive him to madness) he could still reach it. Taking in a deep breath, he closed his eyes and reached inside himself, reaching for that deep, buried place within him. It was still there. He could feel the warm light surrounding him, changing his body.

When John opened his eyes again, he was wolf. He was a sandy-blonde colour, and the absolute _relief_ that he hadn’t lost this joy – this freedom – hit him hard. Turning, he saw Sherlock and his eyes widened in shock. Sherlock was _huge_. He knew that he was short for a werewolf, but still. Sherlock was watching his reaction with amusement. Sherlock’s fur was a brown so dark that it almost appeared to be black, but John knew the difference. He had the same piercing grey eyes like his human form, and John shook out his fur before going and sitting down next to Sherlock, their fur lightly touching, such opposite colours that it was almost amusing.

He leant into Sherlock’s side, feeling reassured by the feel of Sherlock’s strong muscles under his coat. He relaxed and waited.

A soft bark and the rustling of fur alerted John to the fact that they were no longer alone. He straightened up, realising that he had been leaning on Sherlock maybe a bit too much (not that his skinny body could have that much weight to it) and looked at the wolves surrounding them, and looked up at Sherlock.

John could easily see the change in Sherlock’s posture. This was no longer his relaxed, friendly mate – no, this was _Alpha_ Sherlock. Serious, alert, attentive.

He watched as Sherlock looked around, eyes slightly harder, and gave a nod, and then stood. John stood too, and noticed that the top of his head came up to the top of Sherlock’s shoulder. Strong.

Sherlock flicked his tail, and then sped off. Despite his size, John could easily catch up and the thrill of running in this form warmed him from the inside as he kept to Sherlock’s left and just a few steps behind.

A light brown colour wolf was running on Sherlock’s right, further back than John but close just the same. Three other wolves were running behind them, a meter or two back. John couldn’t look to try and remember them, but if Sherlock trusted them, then he would have to too.

They ran along what John assumed was the border, silent through the underbrush and hardly making any noise. He could sense the tension in the air and guessed that this was the main area where attacks had been made.

Something was off. It was _too_ quiet. John wasn’t sure that the others had noticed, but there was something definitely wrong. All of John’s senses were tingling, and he looked at Sherlock, but the (his?) alpha was continuing to run straight ahead.

There was a dip in the ground ahead, and John’s ears flattened. The leaves… Trap!

Ears pinned back, he gave a low growl, and Sherlock slowed, but it wasn’t enough. Another few steps, and he’d fall right into the trap! Saying a silent ‘sorry’ in his head, he pivoted on his foot and leapt straight at Sherlock’s side, heart pounding, knocking them both sideways. He heard the rest of the patrol stop and watch in disbelief, and John felt a moment of belief before Sherlock gave a snarl, and John hastily backed off of him, tail trembling between his legs and ears back as Sherlock stood and turned on him.

Sherlock hadn’t seen it then. Sherlock stalked towards him, and John lowered himself to the ground, wishing that he and Sherlock were bonded so he could talk to him through the mind-link. He knew what a dangerous move it was to tackle and alpha – especially one as dominant as Sherlock – as it was usually seen as a challenge.

Giving a whine, he tilted his head towards the patch of ground mere metres in front of the rest of the patrol.

Tailing thumping softly, he waited for Sherlock’s nod before standing and licking Sherlock’s muzzle respectfully before slinking over to the suspicious patch of ground and pressed a paw on it, watching as the leaves fell away and revealed a large whole and a net. A trap. Meant for a wolf to just run straight into it, fall into the hole and be trapped by the net. Hunters had probably set it.

The patrol shifted uncomfortably, glancing at one another while John watched Sherlock. The tension eased out of Sherlock, and John relaxed slightly as Sherlock walked towards him and pressed his nose lightly to John’s forehead. Relieved that Sherlock wasn’t angry at him, John gave a happy whine, tail wagging slightly and ears pricking.

* * *

The attack came from nowhere. Not even John had been able to tell that there were enemies near. They were on their way back to the alpha house when they were ambushed. One minutes, they had been peacefully racing along in silence, the next there were large enemies wolves, and fighting broke out.

Snarls and growls and yelps and whines bombarded John’s ears as well as the sickening rip of flesh. John knew that his size would be both an advantage and a disadvantage. Advantage because they would underestimate him, disadvantage because if they overpowered him, that would be it for him.

Teeth bared in a snarl and ears flat against his head, John attacked the closest enemy wolf – a dark grey she-wolf. They rolled for a moment before John was up and off of her in a flash, before diving in again, biting, clawing, and a never-ceasing growl coming from his chest. A blow from behind knocked him sideways, and he was stunned for a few precious moments, and his enemy took advantage of that, leaping onto him and snarling in his face. The heat of battle raced through John’s veins, and he snarled back, struggling and writhing, lashing out the best he could, fighting to keep back the panic. The wolf bite down hard on his shoulder, and John gave a whine of pain, thrashing from side to side, but the other wolf stubbornly clung on.

Then, Sherlock. Sherlock was next to the wolf, eyes blazing with pain and anger as he swiped at the wolf and sent it sprawling. Pausing for mere seconds, Sherlock licked John’s wound and waited for him to stand, before leaping after the dazed wolf, a growl of anger rumbling in his dark chest. John watched for a second, admiring the way his muscles rippled under his dark coat, before John turned away and assessed the battle.

 There were only three wolves left, and Sherlock’s pack mates were advancing on them, heads low and teeth bared in a savage snarl. John’s shoulder was aching with pain and steadily dripping blood, but he simply shook out his fur and limped to his alpha’s side and advanced with them.

He watched with satisfaction as the enemy wolves glanced around and noticed how severely they were out-numbered and with several growls, they turned-tail and ran.

John was exhausted, but he surveyed the damage on his pack mates first. Not too bad. A few bites here and there as well as scratches. Sherlock seemed to have taken the brunt of it. He had blood dripping into his right eye from a cut above the eye, and was bleeding from several deep scratches on his flanks and legs. Whining in concern, John gently nosed Sherlock’s shoulder.

Sherlock looked down at him, before leaning against him slightly and licking his ear in a form of comfort.

He slowly turned, letting Sherlock lean on him as he relied on the others to lead the way back, concerned about Sherlock.

When they got to the alpha house, all of them transformed, and the rest of the patrol raced into the house, and John could only hope that they were getting the pack doctor. Sherlock stumbled a step, and John grabbed him gently, letting Sherlock use him as support as they made their way inside.

“The living room, John,” Sherlock murmured tiredly, and John nodded, steering them towards there.

On the couch in the living room, there was a man that was obviously the pack doctor – he stank of medicine and disinfectants – with his kit next to him, treating the others that had been injured.

As soon as they entered, the room fell quiet, and the doctor looked up (Mike, wasn’t it? John recognised him from last night’s dinner), then gestured for John to help Sherlock onto the couch. Well aware that they were both nude, John flushed slightly as he followed the instruction, carefully helping his mate down onto the soft couch, listening to the sounds of the others retreating from the room to give them space.

As the doctor wordlessly began to work on Sherlock, John took a pace back, anxious and not wanting to be in the way, and Sherlock’s hand shot out, immediately grabbing John’s wrist. “Stay,” he murmured, and John nodded, sinking to his knees next to Sherlock and sliding his hand up and intertwining their fingers together.

He couldn’t feel the pain in his shoulder, all he could focus on was Sherlock, and watching the doctor’s careful movements.

After a few agonising long minutes, the doctor pulled away and gave a nod. “Right, that should be it for you, Sherlock. You need to go and rest now. If I find you out of your room any earlier than lunch-time, then so help me I’ll confine you to your room for the rest of the day!” the doctor threatened sternly as he turned his gaze on John. “I expect you to take care of him, alright?”

John nodded immediately. Of _course_ he would take care of Sherlock! John started to stand, when the doctor’s hand came out and stilled him. “Not so fast. Let me take a look at the shoulder of yours. Those bite-marks look pretty deep,” he said, leaning forward and examining John’s wound carefully.

John waited patiently, eyes fixed on Sherlock’s intense stare as the doctor cleaned his shoulder with disinfectant and bandaged it up. Once they had received the all-clear, John immediately stood and helped Sherlock up. The stairs were going to be one hell of a pain to get up, but they would manage it.

And, with the banister’s help, they did. Sherlock was heavier than he looked (but John was positive that it was almost all muscle) but John managed it. Once they got to the bedroom, John carefully helped Sherlock under the bedsheets. “Clothes?” he asked softly.

Sherlock gave a soft groan and shook his head. “No. Come lay with me, John,” Sherlock told him, eyes already closing and Sherlock’s arms opened, expecting John to immediately comply.

Which, of course, he did. John had only a slight hesitation of being naked in the bed with Sherlock, but pushed it aside. Sherlock would never do anything that he didn’t want, John was sure. Shifting carefully, he pulled the sheets up and let himself lightly lean against Sherlock’s lean, warm body. Sherlock gave a contented rumble which made John smile, arms wrapping around him carefully. They were both injured and sore, but comfort of lying here together made it definitely worth it.

“You were good out there,” Sherlock murmured softly, pressing a kiss to his forehead.

John flushed, eyes closing. “I wanted to prove that I was worthy,” John admitted in a soft whisper, slightly embarrassed.

“I could never have picked a more worthy mate, John, I promise you that. Now, however, is time for sleep. We both need to rest and recover,” Sherlock said softly, a tone of finality to his voice which John immediately responded to.

“Wake me if you need me, though, yeah?” John mumbled, already feeling himself on the edge of unconsciousness.

“Of course.”

Pleased, John allowed himself to slip off into sleep, content that he had proved himself to some of the members of the pack, and that he would be able to help Sherlock when he woke. What more could he possibly wish for?


	4. Mycroft Holmes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Mycroft appears and first kisses occur :)

John woke to insistent knocking on the bedroom door. Again. He had already had to shoo away three pack members that meant good, and he really just wanting to stay lying with Sherlock in the bed. Grumbling softly, John slowly extracted himself from Sherlock’s grip and gently shushed him when his mate grumbled, grip tightening. John padded over to the door, pausing to grab his boxers and pull them on before opening the door slightly.

The man at the other side of the door was tall and wearing a dark suit, and he sort of reminded John of Sherlock by the piercing blue eyes that sharpened with interest when he saw John. “Yes?” John asked softly, feeling cold without the warmth of Sherlock surrounding him.

“Where’s Sherlock?” The question is demanding and the voice posh, and John _knew_ that this is a man used to getting his own way.

John doesn’t budge; he hardly blinks. “He’s sleeping,” John told him irritably, tone firm and the message clear: _go away_.

The man lifted an eyebrow and looked surprised. “Any particular reason he’s asleep at,” the man checked his watch, but John felt that it was purely for show, “five-thirty?”

“He’s exhausted,” John stated shortly. He didn’t know who this was, but he was _not_ going to allow anyone to disturb Sherlock from his much-needed rest.

The man hummed and then turned and headed back down the hall without a word. Relieved, John shut the door softly and padded back over to the bed. Now that he was awake, his mind was buzzing and he wanted to do something, but as he watched Sherlock shift, fingers flexing as they searched for him, he was helpless to do anything but crawl back into the bed. Sherlock gave a pleased rumble and half-opened one eye to stare down at John. “Who was it?” Sherlock murmured sleepily, yawning as John cuddled close to him.

“No-one,” John reassured him, reaching up and brushing back a stray curl from Sherlock’s forehead, “Go back to sleep.” He wanted to add something to the end of that, some term of endearment, but couldn’t bring himself to do it.

Shaking his head slightly at himself, he contented himself in laying here and being a teddy-bear to his alpha.

* * *

At quarter-past six, John reluctantly roused Sherlock from his healing slumber. Sherlock was as reluctant to wake as John was to wake him, but they needed to go down for dinner, and so the pack-doctor could assess Sherlock’s healing.

Sherlock growled in irritation as John gently shook him, baring his teeth in a sleepy snarl, and John pushed back the ( _unnecessary, ridiculous, ingrained_ ) fear and called Sherlock’s name determinedly.

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at John blankly for a few moments, before he shifted, groaning as he lifted a hand and scrubbed his face with it, carefully not disturbing the band aid over his eye.

“It’s nearly time for dinner,” John said softly, focussing on Sherlock’s (and determinedly _not_ on the bare chest that was peeking above the sheet.

Sherlock blinked rapidly as he processed this with a slight frown as he sat up. John suddenly wished that he’d put on a shirt. It was alright while they were sleeping, but now that Sherlock was awake, he was self-conscious of the many scars he had and how skinny he was ( _stupid, useless, worthless, inadequate_ ). Crossing his arms over his chest in an attempt to cover his chest, he wondered if his shirt and pants were still outside, or if someone had brought them in.

He ignored Sherlock’s frown and clambered off of the bed, searching for new clothes to wear. He heard Sherlock’s sigh, and then the rustle that told him that Sherlock had gotten off of the bed.

They got dressed in silence, and John opened the door for Sherlock almost without thought, and ignored the teasingly raised eyebrow he received from a now-dressed Sherlock. He stepped back and followed Sherlock out the door, his natural instinct being to let his alpha lead and him follow.

Following Sherlock into the dining room, John wondered briefly if the man from before was still here. Surely not. Although, if he had business with the pack (or Sherlock) he might have. John hoped not; the man unnerved him and he didn’t like it.

John’s stomach sank as they walked into the dining room and found that the space that had been empty yesterday (the one next to the cook that had sat next to him) was now taken by the man. John was glad for the fact that the cook would be a buffer between them. She was a nice old lady that made John feel happy.

He saw Sherlock stiffen, back straightening and drawing himself up to his full height as he entered the room and John knew he had seen the man and wasn’t pleased.

“What’s _he_ doing here?” Sherlock snarled as he strode into the room, and John shared a worried glance with the pack doctor, both concerned about Sherlock’s injuries.

The man took a quick glance around – just a flicker of the eyes, but John noticed – before standing, slowly, a smile on his face that was obviously forced. “Now, now, Sherlock. Is that any way to greet your brother?” the man asked in a put-upon tone.

John’s eyebrows twitched in a small frown, before he forced his face to clear. Brother? That would explain why he reminded John of Sherlock.

Half-hiding behind Sherlock, he could see the tightening of Sherlock’s muscles and almost instinctively reached out, touching the small of Sherlock’s back softly in a calming touch. He didn’t want Sherlock to get too worked up and hurt himself. He was surprised when Sherlock’s muscles actually loosened slightly, and he heard Sherlock exhale roughly.

Sherlock pulled out John’s chair sharply, and then sat on his own, and John was suddenly in full view. He sat down on the chair and pulled it in and brushed his foot against Sherlock’s in silent thanks. Aware of the quiet, he looked up and found the man looking at him intently.

Sherlock’s foot brushed reassuringly against his under the table, and John knew that he had noticed John’s discomfort. Now that he was sitting, John was aware of his own injuries once more. He was pretty sure that the bite on his shoulder would leave scars, but oh well. Proof of the fact that he had proved himself worthy in battle to his new pack-mates.

It was a bit awkward to try and cut up the deer on the plate, and it made his shoulder ache, but he steadily ignored it. Deer was a treat for John, so he thoroughly enjoyed it, despite the pain. He could feel Sherlock watching him, and he looked up and met his gaze for a few moments before giving a small smile as Sherlock’s eyes flickered to his shoulder.

Unlike the night before, it was quiet at the table except for the sounds of chewing and scrape of cutlery against the plate, a sort of tension in the air. Everyone could feel the tension coming off of their alpha thanks to his brother, and they were instinctively responding, on edge and ready to flee if it came to that.

Shifting slightly in his seat, he faced the cook next to him and said softly, “Thank you. For the meal. It’s delicious.”

Her smile made it worth it, and he watched as her blue eyes sparkled and her cheek flushed. “Thank you, John,” she said, and gave Sherlock an approving look.

Smiling slightly, he turned back to his meal, feeling better. The tension had eased slightly in the air as Sherlock’s shoulders relaxed and he smiled at John. John felt warmth spread through him and he liked it a lot.

Sneaking a glance down the table, he saw Sherlock’s brother frowning down at both him and Sherlock. It looked like he was confused by Sherlock’s happiness. John reasoned that Sherlock and his brother must not have a very strong bond.

Then, a switch clicked in his head and he realised something. Sherlock was an alpha of a _new_ pack – that much was obvious, because even though they were organised, the way they interacted with each other told John that they weren’t fully sure how they were meant to act – and must have gone away from his family’s pack to get away. Oh.

Looking up at Sherlock as he chewed a mouthful of roasted potato, he could easily read the lines of tension in his face and body. Sherlock’s gaze was opening defiant as he stared down the table, shoulders held back stiffly and movements short and sharp; demonstrating his authority to his brother. Whether it was his wolf’s doing in his subconscious actions, or whether Sherlock was knowingly doing it, John wasn’t sure. It was a fine line in an alpha between wolf and man.

When dinner finished, John glanced at Sherlock and found him still sitting stiffly, and John glanced down the table and found his brother staring back, eyes hard. Standing quietly as the other pack members did, John picked up his plate, and took the few steps over to Sherlock’s side and picked up his, knowing that there was going to be an argument of one sort or another.

“Do you mind if I shift your things over in your wardrobe to make room for mine?” he asked softly, eyes on Sherlock’s face, hovering beside him.

Sherlock looked up at him, silent appreciation in his eyes for John for understanding, and nodded, face softer than when he had been looking at his brother. “Of course,” he replied just as softly, “move whatever you want. I don’t really care about my own stuff as long as it ends up in a draw somewhere.”

John nodded, and then gave a slight smile as he turned and brushed his arm lightly against Sherlock’s as he did so before he left the room and headed for the kitchen. The cook was in there (he really needed to find out her name) by herself, washing up. John had always liked to help were he could, so he only hesitated for a few seconds before placing his plates beside the sink and telling her to, “Move over, I’ll wash, you can dry seeing as I don’t know where everything goes yet.”

She smiled at him gratefully, and easily moved over, picking up a tea towel and beginning to dry the dishes she had already washed. John rolled up his sleeves and began to wash the dishes, ignoring the twinge of pain to his shoulder and the heated water over his hands as he scrubbed the dirty dishes.

They washed in silence, the occasional snarl or growl floating through from the dining room to them. “How often does his brother visit?” John asked quietly, handing her a plate.

She smiled at him. “Once every four months,” she told him with a fond grin.

John frowned slightly, “doesn’t he trust Sherlock to run the pack properly?”

She sighed sadly, and John wondered how much she was going to tell him. “Sherlock’s elder brother – Mycroft – doesn’t want Sherlock to find himself in trouble. The poor dear does worry so much about Sherlock, but I think Sherlock just wants to prove himself as worthy to be a proper alpha.”

John nodded slowly, and then said, his voice barely above a whisper, “I think he’s plenty worthy.”

His cheeks heated at the confession and he kept his gaze on the soapy sink and the dishes that he was washing. When he dared a glance at the cook, she was smiling at him with such fondness that he had to look away.

* * *

  
Dishes finished and wardrobe re-ordered so John’s clothes now fit (there weren’t that many, but he had had to take out some of Sherlock’s clothes, put his in, and then put Sherlock’s back in so that it had some sort of order - left side was Sherlock’s and the right was John’s), John looked at the now-empty suitcase and debated what to do with it. Downstairs had gone suspiciously quiet, and John was too worried about what might happen if he went down, so he stayed up in the bedroom.

He needed to take a shower. Would he be allowed a bath? It was a pretty big bathroom (and bath) and John got the feeling that it would feel lonely with just one person in it, but was way too uncomfortable with the thought of bathing with Sherlock. Not that he didn’t want to; just that he was self-conscious about how he looked and his scars to share with Sherlock. Shower, then, he decided with a nod. He found the pj’s he had been wearing yesterday – they still smelt strongly of Sherlock – and some fresh underpants, and slipped into the bathroom, shutting the door after him.

The shower was still heaven-like. He absolutely loved the shower. He gave a blissful sigh and regarded the shampoo and conditioner before picking up the shampoo and squeezing a dollop onto his hand and running it through his hair, trying to get out all the dirt from this morning’s patrol.

He would need to get a job. Would Sherlock _let_ him get a job? Usually the alpha female didn’t have to work, and would spend her time in the house, but John was not a female and that kind of life might be appealing for a few weeks, but not a lifetime. Sherlock might think that John was implying that John was needed to get the pack more money, but that wasn’t the case. John needed to be doing _something_ every day, no matter what that something was. He liked to do things, and to know that he was being helpful and useful.

Closing his eyes as he rinsed out the shampoo, a particularly loud snarl and a loud ‘ _thump_ ’ echoed up to him, and he started slightly, eyes slitting open. Their argument wasn’t over, then. Rolling his shoulders as he finished rinsing his hair, he then applied conditioner after stepping out from the direct line of spray and considered the problem.

Where could he go to find work? Farming? Maybe he could help the pack doctor and do door-to-door practises? Farming sounded appealing; hard, sweat-inducing work would be very satisfying.

Shifting under the spray once more, John heard the slamming of the bedroom door, and then a few heavy steps, a flop, and then silence. Sherlock was in the room, most likely lying on the bed. With that knowledge, John hurried to rinse, and then washed his body with the body-wash and turned off the shower head, stepping out and finding a towel, drying himself off. Hurriedly, he put on his pj’s and brushed his teeth thoroughly before opening the door.

There was no fire tonight, and John’s eyes took a moment to adjust to the darkness before he found the still form of Sherlock, face down on the bed and his face pressed into a pillow. John could see the rise and fall of each deep, forced breath and the tenseness still present in the lines of his body.

Shutting the bathroom door behind him, he made his way quietly over to the bed and realised that Sherlock had changed into his pj’s, with his back bare and only wearing bottoms that went all the way down to his ankles.

He hesitated for a few moments before he asked softly, “would you like a massage?”

Sherlock’s head turned and one eye opened to look at John. Wordlessly, he gave a nod, eye closing. Nodding to himself, John clambered onto the bed and half-awkwardly straddled Sherlock’s hips so that he could reach easier. He settled his hands on Sherlock’s shoulder-blades, and found the skin to be comfortably warm, before he began to gently knead his fingertips into the tense muscles.

After a few minutes, Sherlock’s shoulders began to relax as the muscles gave way underneath his firm presses, and John felt a glow of satisfaction before starting on the other shoulder-blade. Now that Sherlock was relaxing, it was easier and John liked the sight of Sherlock relaxing underneath him. He spent a few minutes on Sherlock’s shoulder-blades before moving down his back, along the spine and then along the pale ribs.

Twenty minutes later, and John was positive that Sherlock was almost asleep, muscles pliant and completely relaxed. John made his touches softer, gentler and more relaxing, until he was just running his fingers lightly over Sherlock’s back.

Leaning forward over Sherlock slightly, John tilted his head to the side and measured Sherlock’s deep, even breaths. Satisfied, John sat up properly and shifted off of Sherlock, kneeling to the side for a few moments. He debated on whether or not he should have a shot at starting the fire, but decided against it (besides, it was more of an excuse to cuddle with his mate). Carefully, he tugged the blankets out from under Sherlock, who grumbled slightly, and draped them over Sherlock before sliding under them himself and curling into Sherlock’s side.

He heard Sherlock’s deeper inhale, and knew that it was his wolf subconsciously checking who it was. Sherlock gave a soft rumble, and shifted close, an arm wrapping around John as well as a leg, and Sherlock pushed his nose into John’s hair before settling back down again.

John was quite securely wrapped up in Sherlock’s embrace, and he loved it. It was safe. He knew that Sherlock wouldn’t let _anything_ hurt him, and perhaps that was the reason why he was so comfortable with being around Sherlock and had accepted this so easily. He didn’t quite trust the pack – not yet – but he was sure that, given time, he would.

There was slight pressure being put on his injured shoulder, but he didn’t want to move. He was sure he would regret that decision come morning, but whatever. He was comfortable and safe and warm, and that was all that really mattered right now.

* * *

John woke before Sherlock. He had been right – his shoulder now ached and he partially regretted his decision to not move into a better position. Glancing around blearily, he wondered vaguely what time it was. Sherlock was still fast asleep, curled up tightly around him, and John could see no way of him extracting himself from this position until Sherlock released him.

Not that he wanted to move, but still. He gathered that it had to be around early morning – the time that he usually woke up, so around seven or eight – and wondered what time his mate would wake.

Blinking rapidly to clear his vision, John stared up at the relaxed, peaceful face of his mate and just relaxed, listening to his mate’s heartbeat and deep, even breaths.

A while passed, John wasn’t exactly sure how long, but the house was beginning to wake up (he could hear shuffling coming from downstairs, and the sound of a kettle starting to boil and the soft murmur of talking) and Sherlock was as well. Sherlock’s breaths became slightly faster, as well as his heartbeat, and the alpha gave a small groan, stretching out.

“How long’ve you been awake?” Sherlock mumbled, eyes opening slowly.

“Not sure,” John admitted, “A little while.”

Sherlock gave a soft hum, obviously amused, lips quirking upwards at the corners. Then, he seemed to realise just how tightly he was holding John to him, and gave a soft chuckle as his grip loosened. “Comfy?” he teased softly, blinking rapidly to clear his vision and look down at John.

“Very. You’re nice and warm, too,” John told him with a grin.

Sherlock hummed in content, and John felt warmth run through him that had nothing to do with the Sherlock’s body temperature. He paused, confused, and tried to locate what it was. It felt nice, but he wasn’t quite sure what it exactly was. Deciding to leave it for now, John stretched out and rolled his injured shoulder, wincing slightly.

Sherlock gave a concerned frown and John said before Sherlock could ask, “I’m fine. Just a little sore.”

Sherlock gave a small half-smile and John hesitated a moment before asked cautiously, “What did your brother want?”

Sherlock immediately stiffened, a scowl coming to his face at the mention of his brother. He snorted, arms tightening around John and pulling him closer. Sherlock’s head ducked, nose pressing firmly into John’s hair and taking deep breaths. “He _said_ he only wanted to see how I was doing, but it’s more than that. He doesn’t trust that I can run this pack on my own,” Sherlock growled out.

“You’re not on your own,” John pointed out softly, “You’ve got the cook, and Lestrade,” he hesitated a moment before adding shyly, “And me.”

“And you,” Sherlock repeated warmly. “ _Especially_ you, John.”

John couldn’t fight down the furious blush that rose to his cheeks, and instead settled for pressing his face into Sherlock’s chest. “I think you’re perfectly suited to being an alpha, Sherlock, no matter what your brother – or anyone else – says,” John admitted in a soft mumble.

There was a few moments of silence that stretched out, and John was unsure if Sherlock had heard him, and then Sherlock said, so softly that John had to strain to hear it, “Thank you. That means more than you could imagine, John.”

* * *

Half an hour later, breakfast was served and Sherlock’s brother was still there. Sherlock’s body stiffened and John hid a sigh, thinking that he might just have to give Sherlock another massage after his brother left.

“What are you _still_ here?” Sherlock snarled as he pulled out John’s chair once more before sitting down with a flourish.

John, feeling slightly more comfortable than he had last night, sat down without any hesitation, looking around the table to find that only Lestrade and the cook were brave enough to sit down at the table with them; it seemed that the others had come done early, eaten their breakfast and then disappeared.  John couldn’t help his small smirk at the thought and looked down at what breakfast was today.

Just toast and fruit today, and John couldn’t help his small amount of relief. This, he could manage. The fruit was pear and apple, diced into small pieces and John liked the simplicity. He wondered if he should offer to help out more in the kitchen. Glancing at Sherlock, he wondered if his mate would let him, or give him some kind of argument about him being the alpha’s mate and not needing to. Maybe he could help with lunch today? If Sherlock didn’t have anything planned, of course. No. He _would_ help with lunch. He and Sherlock didn’t have to spend _every_ minute of every day together.

Sherlock was glaring down at the table, dissatisfaction oozing from him.

“I trust you slept well, brother?” Mycroft said, voice polite and civil, but his gaze slid from Sherlock to John, and his meaning was clear, making John bristle as well as Sherlock.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock started in a low growl, making the cook and Lestrade shift nervously.

“I think you need to learn to keep away from what’s not your business,” John cut in, voice edged with warning, not looking up as he cut up his toast.

He could feel four pairs of surprised eyes on him, and he looked up for a moment, and caught a smile on Sherlock’s face, which looked an awful lot like pride. Warmth filled him. Sherlock was proud of him? That was worth the pounding of his heart, the fear that had been drilled into him for speaking out. Glancing at the cook and Lestrade, he saw equal expressions of surprise and pride.

Glancing at Mycroft, he noticed his narrowed eyes and felt a slight sense of satisfaction as he ate his piece of bread.

Mycroft gave a short, “hmm,” and John could feel the atmosphere lighten slightly as Mycroft fell quiet.

* * *

After breakfast, after John had helped with the dishes and Sherlock had made sure his brother was definitely gone, they met in the living room, and John found himself being swept into a hug, pressed against Sherlock’s chest as Sherlock buried his nose into his hair.

“You’re full of surprises, my dear John,” Sherlock murmured happily.

John felt warmth spread through him and he smiled into Sherlock’s chest, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s waist as he leaned into his mate. “Because I told off your brother?” he asked in a mumble.

He heard Sherlock’s chuckle and could feel his mate’s chest moving with it. Sherlock leaned back, and John looked up at him with a small smile. One of Sherlock’s hands rose up and cupped John’s jaw, fingertips pressing into the corner with familiarity. Staring into Sherlock’s eyes, he watched as Sherlock kept his eyes locked onto his and bent his head, slowly, until they were sharing breaths, and then their lips pressed together softly. John’s eyes fluttered shut in pleasure, the feeling like nothing he had ever experienced.

When Sherlock pulled back after an interminable amount of time – which simultaneously felt like too long and too short a period – and John’s eyes opened, John breathed cheekily, “Well, if that’s the response I get to telling off your brother, I might do it more often.”

John relished in Sherlock’s soft chuckle and the warm feeling that spread through him, which he was starting to have a suspicious feeling he knew what it was.


	5. The Auburn Wolf - Part One

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so very sorry that this took so long! I got distracted, then I had school stuff and just ugh. Anyway, this is only part one, so it's half the length of normal chapters, but I hope you like it!!! Part two will be posted as soon as I finish it!!!!

John settled in well at the alpha house, but he was getting bored with doing nothing all day. Sherlock was out more often than not, and he was rarely there at lunch, but always at dinner, tired but determined, and then John would help clean up and they would retreat to their room, where John took to giving him massages after Sherlock had showered. This usually made Sherlock fall asleep, finally relaxed, and if he didn’t he would read for a while and John would curl close.

Every time John tried to ask what was going on, Sherlock would just tell him curtly, “More attacks.” John had given up on asking anymore.

Today, it was just after lunch (which Sherlock hadn’t shown up to) and John was on the couch in their room, reading a book in front of the fire – it had taken him a few tries to get it right, but it had been worth it – when the door slammed open and Sherlock strode in, looking absolutely _furious_. John flinched back, watching Sherlock warily from behind his book, fighting down the instinctive fear in the face of an angry alpha.

Something must have gone wrong. Whatever it was Sherlock had been doing. “Sherlock?” John asked cautiously, eyes tracking his mate as he paced and ran his hands through his hair.

Sherlock whirled around and faced him, eyes narrowed for a few moments. “You’re afraid,” Sherlock said slowly, and then gave a growl. “Why are you still afraid of me?!”

John stayed silent, clutching his book in front of him like a kind of shield.

“I’ve been nothing but nice to you! How can you still be afraid of me?” Sherlock growled, voice raising, and he seemed to realise that the door was still open, and whirled around, slamming it shut and advancing on John.

John tried hard to stifle his flinch at the sharp sound. “It’s hard to erase a lifetime of fear,” he said quietly.

Sherlock gave a sharp, low growl and John fell silent, eyes never leaving that of his mate’s. “I’ll be back later,” Sherlock said finally, and turned and left.

John blinked at the suddenly-empty room. He was confused at what had just happened. Sherlock had been angry about something, growled a bit, and then left?

John suddenly didn’t want to stay in the room. He’d go out to town and find himself a job. Yes, that would be good. Marking his place in his book, he stood and placed the book down on the arm of the chair and went to go find some good clothes to wear. He borrowed one of Sherlock’s black suit jackets and grabbed his pair of dark brown slacks and a dark shirt before heading to go have a shower. He wanted to make a good impression.

He showered thoroughly and even washed his hair – he really did like Sherlock’s shampoo and conditioner. They smelt good.

He wondered if he should leave a note, and then decided against it – he would be back before dinner for sure.

* * *

Or, not. John came back home to the alpha house well after dark, creeping inside. He’d spent most of the day searching for a job – and he’d gotten one, being a fruit collector for the markets – with good pay. That had taken him only a couple of hours, but then he’d gotten distracted and wandered around town, exploring.

As he walked up the drive to the alpha house, he’d expected everyone to be asleep as they usually were at this time, and frowned in confusion as he saw that _all_ of the lights were on. What? Had something happened while he was out?

He walked inside and found members of the house searching rooms. Lestrade was near the front when John walked in, and a look of relief crossed his face. “Where have you been? Sherlock’s been round the loop lookin’ for you! Nearly drove us all mad!” Lestrade exclaimed, frowning. “SHERLOCK!” he called loudly.

John blinked in confusion. Sherlock had been looking for him? He hadn’t thought that Sherlock would notice. Sherlock usually just passed out after dinner. “For how lo-,” John started to ask Lestrade, feeling slightly guilty, but was cut off by the appearance of Sherlock at the end of the hall, his hair a mess and eyes wild.

“John!” Sherlock called, obvious relief in his tone, striding towards John and pulling him away from Lestrade, hands running over him as if to check for injuries.

John stood still in confusion. “Where have you been? I was -,” Sherlock cut himself off and glared at Lestrade until the older man held his hands up and backed away with a smirk. “Worried,” Sherlock finished in a whisper, wrapping his arms around John and pulling him close.

“Sorry,” John said, his voice muffled by Sherlock’s shirt. “I went to town. I got a job,” John said proudly.

He’d never applied for a job before, and he was glad that he had gotten it.

Sherlock’s pulled back slightly and his eyes scanned over John once more, and his lips twitched up in amusement. “You’re wearing my jacket,” Sherlock said, meeting John’s eyes.

John flushed and looked away in embarrassment. “I wanted to look good,” he muttered, burying his face in Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock chuckled and John felt it as his mate pressed a kiss to his head. “You look very good,” Sherlock told him softly, a smile in his voice, and then asked, “Where did you get a job?”

“A fruit picker for the town,” John told him, breathing in Sherlock’s scent, hardly noticing the soft sound of footsteps as pack members peered down the hall and watched them for a few moments before scurrying away.

Sherlock made a small sound, and John cautiously looked up to see a pleased expression on his alpha’s face. John gave a small smile, pleased that he had pleased his mate.

“Come on,” Sherlock said softly after a few moments of silence, “Let’s go to bed.”

John sighed and pulled away, “Alright,” he murmured, looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t move for a moment, and then he bent his head and pressed their lips together for a brief moment, before pulling away and keeping hold of John’s waist as he turned them and headed back up the stairs.

John’s lips tingled with warmth from where Sherlock’s lips had pressed – however briefly – against his own. Following his mate obediently, he found that he wasn’t tired. He was still buzzing with the joy from getting a job and exploring the town. “I’m not tired,” John said softly, looking up at his Alpha, “but I’ll go to bed if you are.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, but shut the bedroom door behind them and then pulled John tight against him, his cheek pressing against John’s hair, taking in deep breaths. Surprised, he wrapped both arms around Sherlock once more, waiting in silence.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you earlier. I was stressed. Things have just been getting worse on the borders. More attacks, more frequently,” Sherlock told him with a sigh.

John blinked in surprise, and then shifted his head so he was looking up at his mate with a small smile. It was nice that Sherlock had apologised. He really was so much different from his father. “It’s alright,” John said softly, then brightened slightly as he suggested, “Why don’t we go out into the forest? Just you and me. Have some fun in our wolf forms.”

Sherlock stared down at him for a moment, before he grinned and kissed John once more. “You’re brilliant, John!” he exclaimed, nuzzling into John’s hair before releasing him and stepping back, taking hold of John’s hand and dragging him back down the stairs.

Caught up in the whirlwind that was his mate, John grinned and gave a laugh as he followed after, gripping onto Sherlock’s long hand to keep himself from falling over.

The air outside was cold, but that didn’t matter. Sherlock grinned at him and let go of his hand before stripping out of his clothes and folding them neatly and placing them on the ground near the back door. John hesitated a few moments before following suit and stripping from his clothes and transformed.

Sherlock was already in his wolf form, looking eager and happy, by the time John blinked open his eyes again. Sherlock nuzzled the back of John’s neck affectionately, and John gave a soft bark of happiness, turning to lick Sherlock’s ear before speeding off.

He could hear Sherlock’s long, easy steps as he raced along behind John, and John glanced back to see Sherlock’s eyes sparkling happily and his tongue hanging out. John leapt over a fallen log and turned a sharp corner, listening to Sherlock easily follow him, catching up as his Alpha took longer strides. Soon, Sherlock was beside him and John looked over at him to find Sherlock staring at him, eyes sparkling merrily and John rather enjoyed the sight. John nudged Sherlock with his shoulder and gave a soft bark of happiness. Sherlock nudged him back and they jumped over another log together, completely in sync.

They ran along for a while, John turning mere seconds after Sherlock did, feeling completely relaxed and happy. This was definitely very nice. They’d have to do this more often. John realised after a few minutes that Sherlock was taking them along the boundary, and gave a soft snort, pivoted on paw and raced into the forest at a ninety degree angle to the border. They came out here to have _fun_ not to check the borders!

He heard Sherlock give a surprised bark after him, before he heard his mate’s paw steps pounding along behind him. John pressed low to the ground and skidded slightly as he round a bush… and ran straight into another wolf. Giving a yelp, he pressed his paws into the ground as him and the other wolf tumbled and used their momentum to leap up and off the other wolf and back away in embarrassment. The wolf gave an irritable growl and shook out her auburn fur, standing up and glaring at him. Sherlock bounded into view and easily leapt over the other wolf and landed gracefully by John’s side and nuzzled the back of his neck, flicking his tail dismissively at the other wolf, and John could have sworn he saw hurt in the brown eyes of the other wolf before she bowed her head and backed away, and nudged John again, this time in the shoulder, to get him moving again.

John looked up at Sherlock, before glancing back at the retreating wolf, and then giving a dramatic sigh and flopping onto the ground, belly facing up, and gave a soft whine. He wanted to play for a bit. Sherlock’s eyes glinted and he lay down on his front and gently nuzzled John’s neck, a soft rumble of happiness coming from the Alpha. John thumped his tail lightly on the floor and stretched his neck, licking at Sherlock’s snout before settling back down and turning on his side, belly facing Sherlock, and pressed close. Sherlock rested his head on the back of John’s neck and gently nosed his fur. John gave a soft whine of content and heard Sherlock’s tail thumping lightly. This was very nice, just lying here like this. It felt warm, and safe. John most definitely like the feeling of safety that Sherlock provided him just by being around. It was amazing and John loved it because it was never something that he had felt besides from the safety of his room (the only room that his father never went in to and never beat him in).

John shoved the thoughts from his head and nuzzled the underside of Sherlock’s throat gently, almost tenderly. It was amazing how quickly that he had adjust to being in a new pack. He would never have thought himself capable to being able to be so close to an Alpha (and a male at that) and feel so completely safe and wonderful.

 _‘I love you,’_ John thought fervently, even though he knew it was impossible for Sherlock to hear him. He was surprised at himself, but he found that it was completely and honestly the truth. Sherlock was the first person to stand up for him and to take care of him, and care for him and how he felt.

But, John was honestly, and he knew that he wouldn’t be telling Sherlock for some time – not until he gained the confidence. He wanted to properly bond with Sherlock and be mated and spend the rest of their lives together. The intensity of his feelings were new, and he was going to be delving into himself later to see where this had come from. For now, he would enjoy this closeness with his mate and Alpha.

Giving a soft bark, John wiggled out of their comfortable position and bounded in a circle around Sherlock, who watched him with an amused look, and then bent his front half low, wagging his tail in the air and barking playfully.

Sherlock gave a wolfy grin and John saw a minute tensing of his mate’s muscles as the only warning he got before Sherlock pounced at him, and John barely jumped back in time to avoid him. Barking again, John darted to the left and jumped at Sherlock, barely landing as he nipped at Sherlock and jumped back, tail wagging furiously. Giving a soft bark of his own, Sherlock jumped high, and John rolled underneath him. Sherlock had apparently been expecting that, as John didn’t even have time to stand up on his paws before Sherlock was tackling his side and rolling them over in the dirt.

John ended up on his back, panting softly and Sherlock above him, rumbling in contented pleasure. John stared up at Sherlock for a moment before, heart pounding in anticipation, slowly lowered his head back to rest against the ground and baring his neck in a gesture of complete submission.

There were a few moments of nothing, and John was just beginning to feel stupid and rejected, when he saw Sherlock’s head come down and he felt the slight pressure of Sherlock’s sharp teeth gently enclosing the skin there and asserting his dominance and accepting John as his mate.

John gave a small whine of happiness as his tail thumped lightly, not moving other than that. He didn’t particularly want to move, not just yet anyway. It wasn’t that cold at this time of the year, so they could stay with this for a little while. Sherlock’s warm weight settled over him as they found a comfortable position, and John let his eyes slip closed and just enjoyed it.


	6. The Auburn Wolf - Part Two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this took so long!!!!! Anyway, thank you for everyone who has commented or left kudos!! I love you all and please enjoy this chapter <3

They stayed out until the moon reached the highest point in the sky, before they reluctantly moved from their comfortable, warm spot and stood, tenderly pressing their noses together before making their way back to the Alpha house.

They grabbed their clothes and snuck inside the house, exchanging amused looks as they climbed the stairs and made their way to their shared bedroom. Sherlock looked much, much more relaxed than he had before they had gone out on their run.

Pleased, John was emitting a warm rumble from deep in his chest, and Sherlock kept giving him soft looks as they entered their bedroom. John rather liked them. Nosing the door shut, John deposited his pile of dirt clothes in the washing basket in the bathroom, and trotted back out to find Sherlock collapsed dramatically on his bed, still in wolf form. John shook his head fondly, and transformed back into human, stretching his arms up above his head. Sherlock rolled over to stare at him with open interest and curiosity, and John felt himself flush but felt proud that he didn’t try and hide himself. Sherlock’s ears pricked and he licked his snout, and John snorted a laugh at the gleam of mischief in his mate’s eyes.

Sherlock leapt gracefully from the bed and transformed, standing upright and wrapping his arms around John, gathering the smaller werewolf close to his body. “Bath?” John suggested, looking up at Sherlock.

Sherlock looked down at John in surprise, before a grin formed. “Sounds perfect,” Sherlock told John, bending his head and nuzzling John’s neck, inhaling deeply and his nose brushing over John’s left collarbone, and making John shiver.

Sherlock then proceeded to drag John into the bathroom and told him firmly to ‘stay’ as he bent over and put the plug in the bath and turning on the water and adjusting the temperature.

John, amused, stayed where he was and watched. Sherlock had a very fine backside, John noticed appreciably. After a few minutes, the massive tub was almost full, and Sherlock turned off the taps before beckoning John over with a smile. John smiled back and obediently went over to his mate. John gave a soft yelp and clung onto Sherlock as his mate easily picked him up and laughed down at him as Sherlock stepped into the bath and sat down, John between his legs and arms around John’s waist, pulling him back as he leant back, so that John’s back was firmly pressed to Sherlock’s chest. Sherlock gave a happy sigh and rested his chin on John’s shoulder.

John was stiff for a few moments before relaxing completely, a soft sigh escaping him as he wiggled momentarily before finding a comfortable position and settling into it, head resting back on his mate’s broad chest. Perfect. This was perfect. John loved it. He was glad that he’d decided against having a bath until now. It was most definitely better with the two of them inside.

John tilted his head to the side as Sherlock nosed at his neck, his eyes closing, enjoying the peace. They were most definitely going to be having baths together more often. Humming softly, it took John a few moments to realise that Sherlock was running a cloth over his body, and he gave a small huff of laughter.

“What? I like taking care of my mate,” Sherlock defended himself in a soft, amused murmur.

John just shook his head wordlessly, amused by the fact that it had taken him a while to notice. “Am I very dirty?” John asked, eyes still closed and head still resting on Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock hummed and nipped playfully at John’s neck, making the smaller werewolf shiver with pleasure. “Very,” Sherlock murmured playfully, and John gave another soft laugh.

John was completely relaxed under Sherlock’s gentle touch (though, he was sure that his stomach didn’t need _that_ many wipes like Sherlock was giving it), a small smile on his lips. Sherlock shifted slightly to the side behind him, and John gave a soft grumble, but quietened as Sherlock merely started washing what he could reach of John’s legs. Humming softly, John opened his eyes as Sherlock stopped. “Your turn?” John asked softly, twisting slightly to face Sherlock.

Sherlock smiled, sitting forward slightly to press a gentle kiss to John’s forehead and then hand him the wash cloth before sitting back in the tub, limbs spread as far as they could in the tub as Sherlock watched him with a content expression on his face. John twisted further and settled himself between Sherlock’s thighs, wondering for a moment where to start with all that pale skin exposed to him. Deciding to start at the most obvious place (Sherlock’s chest) John shifted forward, completely focussed on his task at hand, and began to wipe the cloth over his mate’s chest, finding himself enjoying thoroughly the feel of Sherlock’s skin and lean muscles.

When you looked at Sherlock, you wouldn’t figure him to be all that strong with his tall, thin form, but he really was. His lean muscles hid perfectly behind that smooth, pale skin and John realised that Sherlock would have used that to his advantage in many cases. John washed tenderly over Sherlock’s shoulders and down his arms, glancing up as he heard Sherlock give a small sigh, and he found his Alpha’s eyes closed and a small smile on his lips, completely relaxed. Incredibly pleased that he could have such an effect on Sherlock, John continued to wash Sherlock, slowly and tenderly, savouring each moment.

Skirting around Sherlock’s cock, John washed down his legs and then back up and across his stomach and sides. “All done,” John said softly, satisfaction evident in his tone.

Sherlock chuckled softly and reached out, wrapping his arms around John as he opened his eyes and bringing the shorter werewolf in for a sweet kiss. John practically melted into it, reaching up to rest his hands up on Sherlock’s shoulders, eyes closing. 

* * *

Wrapped up in Sherlock’s clothes that he was using as pyjamas, John cuddled up close to his mate, feeling content as Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him and breathing in his delicious scent. It was good, to lie together like this. Peaceful, even. Sherlock’s even breaths indicated that, while he wasn’t yet, he would be soon. John pressed his nose lightly against Sherlock’s throat, his head tucked comfortably under Sherlock’s chin. John was warm and comfortable and completely content in this position. John’s own hands rested lightly on Sherlock’s hips, feeling his mate’s warmth under the sleeping pants that he was wearing.

John was sleepy, but couldn’t find sleep just yet. After an indeterminable amount of time, Sherlock had fallen asleep, but not John. Sighing to himself, John shifted, pressed a kiss to his mate’s neck before turning over. Sherlock grumbled behind him, and then curled around him, his nose pressing into John’s blonde hair. Smiling to himself, John closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but found that he just couldn’t.

After a while, John sighed and opened his eyes again. A flickering shadow from under the door caught his attention, and John instantly stilled. Sherlock grumbled, his arms tightening around John in response to the stillness of his mate’s body, but slept on. John’s eyes fixed on the bottom of the door, and after a moment, the shadow flickered across again, and John decided to go investigate. First, he had to detangle himself from Sherlock.

John moved slowly, and carefully, but as soon as he pried Sherlock’s arms from him, his mate woke up, and sat up, arms winding around John once more and pressing him close. “Where are you going?” Sherlock asked in a voice low and rough from sleep.

John wiggled around in his Alpha’s embrace and faced him, blinking. “There’s someone outside your door,” John whispered, nodding to the door, where the shadow had stopped moving, but now John could smell them.

“I’ll deal with them,” Sherlock assured him with a yawn, “You go back to sleep.”

John hesitated for a moment before lying down as Sherlock slipped from the bed and padded over to the door. John got a glimpse of a woman with long black hair staring up at Sherlock with a sly smile, before the door closed. Unsettled, John waited, eyes open and staring into the darkness. That woman made him uncomfortable and he felt like he’d seen her before somewhere. But, it wasn’t someone from his old pack (he would have recognised her) so who was it? 

* * *

John didn’t sleep well that night. He only managed to get a few hours’ sleep in before dawn came, despite Sherlock’s warmness wrapped around him and the sound of his even heartbeat. Perhaps he was just unused to all these comforts that were being presented to him. After all, he hadn’t known Sherlock – or his pack – all that long. He was trying really hard to trust Sherlock, he really was, but he just felt off today, suspicious.

John ‘woke’ before Sherlock and clambered from the bed and made his way into the bathroom, forgetting to lock the door. He jumped as Sherlock wandered in a few minutes later as John was brushing his hair, but Sherlock merely came up behind him, pressed a kiss to John’s cheek and then went to use the toilet. John felt bad for jumping, but he didn’t say anything, instead finishing brushing his hair and exiting the bathroom to go get changed.

John looked up as Sherlock entered the bedroom, and couldn’t supress a smile at the state of Sherlock’s hair. It was all over the place, and even sticking up at the back. Wordlessly, John went into the bathroom and returned with the comb.

“Here, sit and I’ll fix your hair for you,” John said with a soft chuckle.

Sherlock looked at him with surprise, and then smiled at John and went over to the bed, sitting down. John followed him, and settled himself between Sherlock’s thighs and started to gently comb Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock’s eyes dipped closed and he leant his head against John’s chest. John smiled at the show of such trust. It warmed his heart to know that Sherlock trusted him to not harm him. John hummed softly as he worked out all the knots and tangles in Sherlock’s hair until it was nice and smooth and looked perfect.

“There,” John said softly a few minutes later, and looked down at Sherlock happily.

“Thank you,” Sherlock murmured softly and lifted his head to look up at John with a smile. Sherlock’s hands came up and drew John down for a soft kiss.

John practically melted into it and his eyes closed as he gave a soft sigh, all his worries and suspicions melting away.

When Sherlock pulled back, John opened his eyes to find his mate smiling. “Better?” Sherlock asked and John flushed.

“Yeah, actually, thanks,” John said with a grin.

How Sherlock could read him so easily, John didn’t know but he rather liked it. John grinned and leant in for another kiss. A perfect way to start the day, John decided.


	7. Alpha John

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which all shit goes down... My apologies... :D

“Who is she?” John shouted, face red with anger. He was breathing rapidly, eyes narrowed as he focussed on Sherlock.

Sherlock looked equally as furious, eyes narrowed and a low growl rumbling from his chest. “Why can’t you just take me at my words and trust me when I say that it doesn’t matter?” Sherlock shot back.

“Because that’s obviously not true! You can’t expect me to trust you as simply as that, Sherlock!”

“Why _not_? I’ve been nothing but kind to you. I’ve taken care of you, fed you, _cared_ for you and made sure you’re safe!” Sherlock’s voice held a tinge of frustration, but days of suspicion were fuelling John’s anger, and he wasn’t going to back down just yet.

“Because I don’t really _know_ you, Sherlock!” John shouted, and he felt a tinge of regret, but pushed it aside. He needed to get through to Sherlock. He would not accept lies or excuses. He wanted the _truth._

Sherlock paused for a moment, before snarling, eyes flashing dangerously, but John stood his ground, even as he trembled slightly. Sherlock had never directed such anger at him before. “And what if I don’t tell you? What will you do?” Sherlock asked.

John hesitated for a second. “I-I’ll move out of _your_ room,” John threatened.

“You’ll stay,” Sherlock growled out lowly, taking a threatening step towards John.

“And what will _you_ do if I don’t stay?” John retorted, having to tilt his head to look up at his Alpha, “Send me back to my father?”

“Yes,” Sherlock said shortly, and John faltered, finally flinching and dropping his gaze and stepping back.

He hadn’t expected that. Would Sherlock really send him back? All over a simple fight? Well, maybe not simple, but still.

“John,” Sherlock said, voice gentler, a note of regret in his tone, but John didn’t look up.

“Fine. You win. I’ll be down in the kitchens,” John said softly, and turned and left without looking up at Sherlock, ignoring the second, slightly more desperate, call of his name and slipped out the door, tears stinging his eyes.

* * *

  
**Three days ago**

At first, John had worried at all about the woman he’d seen in the light of the hallway. He’d figured that Sherlock would tell him if something were up. John had spent the first day pleased, and him and Sherlock went out into the town, showing John around. It was a nice town, small and quiet and peaceful. Everyone smiled at Sherlock as he went past, and he was obviously well known, though John noticed that the smile he gave them back wasn’t what John had come to term his ‘real’ smile. This puzzled him for a bit.

These people were obviously Sherlock’s pack, but they obviously didn’t know Sherlock as John did – which, really was saying something. They couldn’t even tell the difference between Sherlock’s ‘real’ smile and his ‘fake’ one, the one that John hardly ever saw.

It was late that night when John’s suspicions started. It was really late, and John had been asleep for only a few hours before he stirred as Sherlock moved. Usually, it was John that moved in his sleep, so it was odd that Sherlock was moving. Turning, eyes opening blearily, John gave a questioning whine, nuzzling into Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock’s hand gently pet his hair, and John sighed happily, eyes slipping closed. “Shh,” Sherlock whispered softly, warmth in his tone as John gave another questioning noise, “I’ll be back soon, my dear mate. Go back to sleep.”

Mostly asleep, John pressed a kiss to Sherlock’s neck in acceptance and he allowed Sherlock to slip out of the bed. John peeked open an eye and watched as Sherlock opened the door, and caught a glimpse of long dark hair before the door shut and he heard muffled voices. Slightly confused, but still trusting, John slipped back into sleep.

Sherlock never came back to bed that night.

* * *

The second day, John tried to ask Sherlock about it at breakfast, but Sherlock merely waved him off with a hand and a smile and distracted him with the delicious new food that John had never tried before. Lestrade had glared at Sherlock for a moment, and then shot John a look that looked suspiciously like pity, and that was when John decided that something was definitely up and he had to get to the bottom of this, because mistrust between mates was not something that John wanted.

He mingled with the lower members of the pack that day, and asked casually about the woman. He described her as best he could – just a bit taller than him, pale skin and dark long hair. Some refused to answer, instead laughing his question off awkwardly and saying that information was only for the Alpha’s. It was both a good and a bad thing that they didn’t recognise who he was. Good, because he could ask all the questions he liked, and no one would even think of reporting to Sherlock because he was just a stranger in their pack. Bad, because they didn’t tell him some things and some treated him disrespectfully. Well, John decided that the good outweighed the bad.

Eventually, he found out her name – Irene Adler. But he couldn’t find out anything else. Except that she had been seen slipping in and out of the Alpha house, sometimes with Sherlock following.

John kept quiet for the rest of the day, suspicions building in his mind, wondering what on earth she could want with Sherlock.

It was on the third that things just went to hell. Their argument had started out simply enough. John had merely inquired about Irene, and when Sherlock refused to answer and kept deflecting his questions, all of John’s suspicions had turned into anger and boiled over.

* * *

 **In the kitchens – present day**

John went quietly down to the kitchens, hurt. They had both been angry, yes, but that wasn’t an excuse to threaten to send John back to his father. That was going too far. John’s worst threat had been to move out of Sherlock’s room. What made it worse was the fact that they had had a nice, peaceful day four days ago and the fact that Sherlock hadn’t told him about Irene. Why wouldn’t Sherlock tell him? What was going on?

Mrs Hudson – John had finally remembered her name – and she gave John a smile as he came in, and John only managed a weak one himself.

“What’s the matter?” she asked worriedly, and John shook his head.

“It’s nothing,” he told her. He didn’t want her to get upset

“Nonsense,” she clucked, and gave him a stern look. “Now, tell me what happened.”

John hesitated a moment before resting against the counter and sighing, wringing his hands together nervously, and admitted, dropping his gaze, “Me and Sherlock got into a fight.”

She gasped softly, and came close, wrapping her arms around him and saying softly, “Tell me what happened, John.”

John melted into her embrace and closed his eyes, resting his head on her shoulder and saying softly, “You can’t tell Sherlock,” and once he had her confirmation, he poured everything out, keeping his eyes closed and head down as slight tremors wracked through him.

He wasn’t crying – not yet – but by the end of it he was. He couldn’t help it. He loved Sherlock _so much_ and it just seemed like Sherlock didn’t care all that much about him. John confessed everything to Mrs Hudson, and she clutched him close, cooing and clucking softly into his ear. He’d never had a proper mother figure before, and he had to admit that it felt good to let out everything he had been feeling.

Once he had finished, she pulled back and wiped his tears gently and he gave her a watery smile.

“That boy can be an idiot, but I know he cares deeply about you, John. You should have seen the state he was in when we couldn’t find you. He would have ripped the whole house apart looking for you. I can’t say that I know what he’s doing, but he would never cheat on you or harm you. Understood?” Mrs Hudson said firmly, and John bit his lip, rubbing the tears from his face.

He nodded, but didn’t quite believe it. “He threatened to send me back to my father,” he whispered, unable to meet her kind gaze.

She was silent for a few minutes, and John glanced up at her, before she said, “I doubt he meant that. Why don’t you go for a walk? Clear your head a bit?”

John gave her a slight smile. “I’ll ask Lestrade if I can tag onto the next patrol. That would be better, I think. Thank you, Mrs Hudson,” John said gratefully, and gave her a swift kiss to her cheek before standing up properly to go and find Lestrade. Hopefully, he wouldn’t be far away.

Once out of the kitchen, John took in a deep breath and followed the freshest scent of Lestrade out of the house. John rubbed his eyes once more when he was outside, and glanced back up at the house, and caught sight of Sherlock standing at the window, and turned his back stiffly. Despite what Mrs Hudson had said, he was still hurt and the slightest bit angry, so he didn’t look back at the house as he followed Lestrade’s scent. He could feel his Alpha’s eyes on him, but John kept a straight back as he walked along the yard, and found Lestrade quickly and gave the man a smile. “Would I be able to tag on to the next patrol?” John asked with another smile.

Lestrade looked over him, eyes lingering on his quite possibly red eyes, and asked, slightly concerned, “Yeah, of course, but you okay?”

John waved a hand dismissively. “I will be,” he assured Lestrade, “When does the next patrol leave?”

“An hour,” Lestrade responded automatically, “You wanna come in and have a cuppa?” Lestrade gestured back to his house, and John gave another smile, grateful.

“Sounds great,” John responded, not looking back up at the house as he followed Lestrade. He did pause for a moment, though before he entering Lestrade’s house. 

* * *

John felt infinitely better after the patrol. It had cleared his head. Not made him any less hurt by Sherlock’s words, but he felt better.

Dinner was an awkward affair. Mrs Hudson kept shooting John encouraging looks, Sherlock angry ones, Lestrade kept glancing curiously between both John and Sherlock, while Sherlock angrily stabbed at his food, shooting John glances every now and then, while John determinedly kept his head down and feet as far from Sherlock’s as possible. He didn’t want any contact tonight.

Once dinner was over, Sherlock looked at him expectantly, but John did nothing more than take Sherlock’s plate as well as his own and head off to the kitchen to help Mrs Hudson. She always insisted that she didn’t need help, but John knew that she appreciated his help all the same. Besides, it gave him something to do. John didn’t necessarily want to go back to their room until he could shower and sleep.

So, John hung around downstairs and interacted with the members in the house. Molly was a sweet, shy young thing, and John noticed with amusement she always got more flustered around Lestrade. Lestrade was obviously affectionate of her, too, but both seemed oblivious to the other’s affection. It was almost sad. John decided that he would have a talk with them later. Maybe tomorrow. He wanted to help them. This was his pack now, after all, and if he could do even this tiny thing, it would make it seem more like he was part of a proper pack and had friends.

John noticed that Sherlock hung around for a bit, but once it was clear that John wouldn’t acknowledge him, the Alpha said his goodnights and left.

A few hours later, when everyone was yawning, John made sure that they all got to bed safely before he looked around the room and blew out the remaining candles and headed upstairs. Sherlock was already in bed. Whether he was asleep or not, John didn’t know. Shutting the door softly behind him, John made his way over to their draws and was as quiet as possible as he took out his pyjamas. Even though he hadn’t forgiven Sherlock, his Alpha’s clothes were the only pyjamas that he possessed. So, he took those and a fresh pair of underwear before slipping into the bathroom to have a shower. John was quick, washing down and turning off the water, giving himself no time to luxuriate, and dried off quickly, putting on his pyjamas before brushing his teeth thoroughly.

Exiting the bathroom, he dumped his dirty clothes in the hamper (he seriously needed to get round to washing those. Tomorrow, perhaps).

Hesitating for a few moments, John stood beside the bed. He glanced in the direction of the couch, before shaking himself. No. He would not be kicked out of the bed.

Slipping under the warm covers, he heard Sherlock stir, but John turned his back on him and kept as far away as he could without falling off.

John flinched slightly at the feel of a hand lightly running from his neck to his back, but found his body betraying him and relaxing into the touch of his mate.

“Goodnight, John,” Sherlock murmured softly, sleepily, his hand resting on John’s back.

“Goodnight,” John murmured in reply before closing his eyes and easily slipping into sleep.

* * *

The next morning, Sherlock was still sleeping when John woke. John rolled over and found that Sherlock had crept closer in the night. Even though they hadn’t bonded yet, their wolves had already formed a strong bond, so the instinctive need to be close had caused them both to creep close, feet touching and Sherlock’s hand was on his hip. Taking in Sherlock’s relaxed and peaceful face, John sighed softly and crept closer for a moment, pressing a soft kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. His Alpha grumbled softly, and his hand instinctively tightened on John’s hip.

“Come on patrol with me,” Sherlock murmured sleepily, eyes fluttering for a moment before staying closed.

“No, Sherlock,” John said gently. “I’m going on dawn patrol with Lestrade. I won’t be at breakfast.”

Sherlock gave a growl of discontent, and reluctantly released John as the smaller werewolf backed out of his grip.

John slipped from the bed and pulled the covers back up around Sherlock – no matter what they had both said, Sherlock was still his mate and John still loved him – and watched his Alpha snuggle in close and slip back into sleep. Padding quietly over to the drawers, John pulled out some fresh clothes. He also had to go to start work today. John was excited about that, and so he set out some good-ish clothes (they were sure to get dirty, so no point in wearing too good a clothes), and then stripped from his pyjamas and opened the door before transforming and closing the door as best as possible before heading down the stairs and outside to wait for Lestrade.

Over the past few days, John had memorised the routes and scents of their pack, as well as their enemies, and so he was confident that he could lead. Whether Lestrade would let him or not was another question entirely. John was the Alpha’s mate, and therefore had more power than Lestrade, who was second in command, but Lestrade was naturally dominant, whilst John had to struggle to give orders without making it a question. But, he was getting better, and John knew that he had to step up if this pack was ever going to obey and trust him to take care of them.

Lestrade showed first, and John straightened, nodding at him, and Lestrade’s eyes swept over him, noticing the change in his posture. As the others arrived, John looked around, counted, checked that everyone was here and stood, tail up over his back in a show of dominance. He was the Alpha’s mate, and he would lead this, and they were to follow.

The wolves except Lestrade dipped their heads in a bow in a show of allegiance, but Lestrade stood straight, tail puffed as well, staring at him.

A challenge, then.

John snarled, ears flattening, and the others backed off to give them room as Lestrade returned the snarl.

This was a fight to prove dominance, not to harm, and John kept this in mind as he and Lestrade began to circle slowly, eyes locked on the other. If Greg thought he had the advantage just because he was bigger, then he was wrong. John was small, yes, but he was fast, and he had spent his whole lifetime being beaten so he knew how to escape, and what mistakes not to make.

John saw the minute tensing of Lestrade’s muscles a few precious moments before he leaped, and John used that advantage to roll under Lestrade and leap quickly to his feet, tackling the taller werewolf’s side before he had the time to turn. John vaguely noticed that others were trickling from the house to watch, but John didn’t tear his gaze from Lestrade as the other writhed and bucked under him, ears flat against his light brown fur. John snarled loudly in his face, pressing both front paws to Lestrade’s flank, digging his claws in lightly and leaning close to Lestrade’s muzzle, staring into his eyes as he snarled.

John’s message was clear: Submit.

After a moment of further struggling, Lestrade realised that it was useless, and gave in, relaxing back into the ground and gave a soft whine. John waited a moment further, before stepping off, Lestrade rolled onto his belly, and John carefully placed his jaws around Lestrade’s offered neck before stepping back fully and glancing around, ears pricked, tail up, and head held high. All of the werewolves – both in human form and wolf – bowed towards him, and John felt a flicker of pride. This was _his_ pack as well.

Nodding, John flicked his tail, and the patrol fell behind him, ears pricked eagerly, and John headed off in the direction of the western border. He broke out into a jog as they entered the trees, revelling in the feel of leading his pack mates.

Not forgetting that there had been recent attacks, John kept his eyes and ears pricked as they ran. He slowed occasionally so that the patrol could mark the border with their scent, but everything seemed fine.

It was on their way back when John noticed that something was up. There were strong scents of the enemy pack crossing their borders, and they were heading in the direction of the Alpha house!

Sherlock!

Ears flattening, heart pounding in fear, John broke into a sprint, the patrol following him, and he could sense their unease.

As they approached the Alpha house, John heard snarling and he sped up, and as he burst from the cover of the trees, his heart skipped a beat. There were enemy wolves everywhere, and a massive fight was occurring outside the back door of the house.

Howling, John charged in, hearing the howls of his pack mates supporting him as they charged in after him.

John tackled and clawed and bit at every enemy wolf he came across, sending more than a few retreating back to the border. Panting, the sounds of snarls and growls as well as whimpers and the sick sound of flesh ripping assaulted his ears, and John spun around and searched desperately for his mate. He found Sherlock in the midst of the biggest part of the battle, fighting three wolves at once. Blood was oozing from multiple wounds on Sherlock’s body, and he was favouring his left back leg. John fought his way over to him, ignoring his own wounds, and tackled one of the wolves fighting Sherlock, snarling in its face and viciously clawing down its flank and feeling satisfied as red instantly began oozing. The wolf writhed under him, but John could keep Lestrade down, so this was wolf no problem. The wolf flailed its claws, catching John on the cheek, but he ignored the sting, and continued clawing at him until it whimpered, and then stood off and chased it a few steps away from Sherlock, before turning back to his mate. Sherlock had managed to send off one of the other wolves, and together they turned on the other, snarling and heads lowered. This wolf was no match for a furious pair of Alphas, and it seemed to realise that as it looked between them before fleeing. Sherlock took a moment to lick the wound on John’s cheek, and John nudged his mate with his nose, before they both turned and began to fight the remaining wolves as a pair.

John didn’t know how long passed, but eventually the enemy wolves, snarling and growling, grew fewer in numbers and retreated. Barking, John glanced at Sherlock before flicking his tail at their wolves and racing off, members of the pack falling in behind him as they scoured the forest to make sure that they really were gone.

They found two wolves in the bushes just inside the border, and chased them off. Returning, John found most of the pack resting on their bellies in wolf form. Mike and Molly were racing around in human form, nudging the most wounded to transform and then treating their wounds as quickly as possible. Sherlock was sitting near the door in human form, and grimacing as he prodded at his own leg. Mike and Molly seemed to have divided the injured into two separate places – the most injured, that needed the most attention, and the least wounded, who could wait a while to be treated – and John glanced at the members that had followed him into the forest, and assessed them. He nosed them towards the section which they fit in.

John ignored his own wounds. He had multiple bites and scratches – some deep – littering him, but he didn’t care for his own wounds. He’d had worse from his father.

Transforming into human, John made his way towards Sherlock and sat beside him, inspecting his leg.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock tried to tell him, but John wasn’t buying it, and gave him a disbelieving look, “The others come first.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” John snapped, leaning close to gently prod at the deep claw marks Sherlock had going down his leg, “If you lose too much blood, or get an infection, who will lead the pack then? They need you to be healthy and strong, especially after this attack.”

John could feel his mate’s gaze on him, but he ignored it as he stood, “I’ll get bandages and disinfectant,” he told Sherlock, and made his way towards Mike.

“I can help,” John told Mike quietly, “I used to help my old pack’s doctor. Sherlock needs bandages and disinfectant, do you have another kit inside the house?”

Mike looked up at him, and nodded assent, “Yeah, under the kitchen sink. I always keep a kit around.”

Once John had the information, he darted off towards the house and slipped into the kitchen, easily finding the kit and assuring Mrs Hudson that everything was fine before going back outside and to Sherlock’s side.

John made quick work of Sherlock’s leg, and move to stand, but Sherlock lightly grasped his wrist, and John looked down at him in surprise. Sherlock’s eyes moved over his face before he said gently, “You’re still mad at me. I’m sorry.”

John blew out a breath. “You hurt me, Sherlock,” John said, looking away from Sherlock and then back at him, “But you’re still my mate and my Alpha and I will always care for you.”

Then, John tugged his wrist out of Sherlock’s grip and went to help Mike and Molly treat the injured. It took several hours, but finally they had everyone treated and John was running dangerously close to being late for his first day of work. Wrapping hasty bandages around his own wounds, John dashed upstairs and quickly changed and brushed his teeth and brushed his hair before darting back downstairs.

“John! Wait!” Sherlock called, and John turned to see him hobbling down the hall, John met him half way, a confused frown on his face.

“You shouldn’t be walking about,” John scolded lightly, but Sherlock smiled at him.

“I wanted to say goodbye. And good luck. I hope your work goes well,” Sherlock told him with a hint of pride in his voice before he bent and placed a tender kiss on John’s forehead before turning and hobbling back in the direction of the living room.

A warm feeling spread through John that Sherlock had remembered, and he smiled, touching his forehead briefly before turned and rushed out the door to head to work.

Perhaps they would be able to fix this after all, and that things would get better. John hoped so. He loved Sherlock deeply, and he knew that Sherlock cared.

Well, that would only work if Sherlock told him about Irene. John didn’t trust her. Especially when he saw her slip out the front door and start trotting in wolf form towards the border. But John had no time to investigate – he had work to do! Later, he promised himself as he darted off.

* * *

John had no time for other thoughts at work. It was physically taxing, going through the fields and loading up hand-woven wooden baskets of fruit. The fields were large and had what seemed like thousands of trees and multiple kinds. Apples, pears, oranges, lemons, limes, apricots, figs, peaches, nectarines and plums. There were so many, and John spent hours and hours collecting multiple basket-full of fruit and delivering them to the carts to be delivered to the markets. John got a half-hour break for lunch, and a half-hour break for dinner, both of which he went into town to get.

By the time John got home, he was exhausted, and his wounds ached. He should have given them more care, but he’d been in a rush and hadn’t wanted to waste any more time. John barely had enough energy to drag himself up the stairs and into his and Sherlock’s bedroom, and certainly too tired to care as Sherlock instantly stood from the bed and came over to him, wrapping his arms around him.

“’m sleepy,” John mumbled, resting against his mate and grateful for his Alpha’s strength, yawning, “’nd sore.”

Sherlock tutted softly, and led John over to the bed, lying him down and efficiently stripping him of his clothes and bandages, murmuring, “Go to sleep, my dear. I’ll take care of you.”

“St’ll an’ry,” John muttered, closing his eyes and relaxing despite his words.

“I know,” Sherlock soothed, and John felt something soft and warm brush against his forehead before Sherlock disappeared softly and then reappear and began wiping a warm cloth over his body and then applying a cold cream to his wounds, and then the firmness of a bandage being wrapped around his injuries (which he grunted at in protesting, but what quickly shushed).

Sighing happily, John reached up and patted Sherlock’s curly hair in appreciation, and shifted slightly up the bed once Sherlock had redressed him in his pyjamas, smiling slightly as Sherlock crawled up next to him and moved them both under the covers. John cuddled close, instinctively seeking the warmth and safety of his mate and Alpha, pressing his nose lightly to Sherlock’s neck and murmuring with the last of his strength, “night, Sh’rl’ck.”

“Goodnight, John,” Sherlock murmured, wrapping his arms around him, and John felt warmth flow through him as he finally succumbed to sleep, safe in the embrace of his mate, no troubles at all on his mind.


	8. Jealous, Sherlock?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Really sorry about mt absence! I kinda lost my writing wil, and almost gave up, but I'm back! Hope this chapter's worth it! Jealous Sherlock and more plot!!

When John woke, Sherlock was still there, arms wrapped tightly around John. John shifted, and instantly groaned softly as his wounds ached. Sherlock mumbled, and opened his eyes blearily, asking sleepily, “John?”

“Shh,” John soothed, “I’m just a bit sore. Go back to sleep, I’ll take your place on the morning patrol. Rest and let your leg heal a bit. If I catch you wandering around outside the house you’ll be in trouble,” John warned with a slight smile.

Sherlock sighed heavily, and John knew he’d heard him, and smiled, and pressed a gentle kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. Sherlock reached up as John started moving away, and pressed John gently down into sleepy kiss which only lasted a few seconds, but conveyed so much more affection than John had been given in days, and it took his breath away. Whimpering softly, John pulled back and looked down at Sherlock, who had a sleepy, content smile on his face, before shuffling away to go get ready for the patrol. He would have to organise with Greg to take Sherlock off of the patrols for at least today and tomorrow, and off of the morning shifts for the next week, so Sherlock could heal better.

Glancing back at Sherlock, John stood in the doorway and stared for a few moments, confused at Sherlock’s actions. He needed to find out what was happening with Irene. And if Sherlock wouldn’t tell him, John would find out some other way. He _would_.

Shaking his head slightly, John slipped silently out the door, heading down the stairs and towards the meet up point. John’s wounds were still aching, but he ignored them. As the Alpha’s mate, he needed to prove himself to the pack. He knew he already had Greg’s loyalty, as well as Mike and Molly’s, but not yet the rest of the pack’s. But he would. He would not give up until he had every single pack member’s respect.

Once outside, John was first (as always) and stripped out of his clothes and transformed into his wolf, shaking out his fur before sitting down on the ground, waiting

Greg arrived next, and nodded at John. John nodded back, much more relaxed than yesterday, and Greg sat beside him as they waited for the others to arrive. John was still getting used to learning everyone’s names and the color of their pelts, but he was sure that he’d get it eventually.

Three more wolves joined them, and John nodded at Greg. He could lead this one. John had proved his point yesterday, and there was no need to overdo it. Besides, he would hang back and watch how the patrol worked together.

Greg seemed surprised, but dipped his head in assent, standing as John did, and flicked his tail at the patrol, before he lead the way at a jog. John fell behind the pack, and watched them all silently with a pleased expression. A slim grey wolf fell into step beside him, glancing at him shyly, and John gave her a wolfy grin. These werewolves were his pack, and he would treat them like his father never treated him – with kindness and love and mutual respect. Because he did love this pack, he was coming to find (except Irene, but he wasn’t totally sure she was even part of this pack).

They slowed down slightly as they came close to the places where traps had been set for them before, and Greg slowed to a trot, before glancing back at John and giving a questioning whine. _Would he lead?_

John blinked, but nodded, flicking his tail in a friendly gesture at the shy grey wolf, before trotting forward through the ranks to Greg’s side. Greg took a step back and gestured with his nose towards the ground in front of them.

John went slowly, ears pricked and eyes scanning the ground around them for traps or enemy wolves. All seemed to be clear, but John didn’t let his guard down, though he picked up his pace slightly and soon they were racing along the undergrowth and returning back to the Alpha house.

All was quiet, and John was quite pleased and shook out his fur one last time before transforming back and stretching out, wincing slightly at the pain, but brushed it off as he changed back into his clothes, and turned to face Greg.

“Hey, Greg, can I speak with you?” he asked with a smile, gesturing with a hand that he wanted this to be private.

“Of course,” Greg said, surprise obvious in his voice.

Turning, John went inside and once Greg followed, he turned to the other wolf and asked, frowning slightly, “Can you take Sherlock off of the patrols for today and tomorrow? Also, can you take him off the morning patrols for the week? He needs to rest his leg, and the stubborn idiot won’t do so if he has patrols to do.”

Greg stared at him for a moment, eyes scanning over John’s face, before smiling. “Of course. You really care for him, don’t you?”

John flushed slightly, but didn’t turn his gaze away. “Of course I do. He’s a stupid, stubborn idiot, but yeah. Nothing’s gonna change that,” John said with a grin, “Now, come on. I’m sure Mrs Hudson has breakfast ready for us. I’ll go get Sherlock and meet you down there.”

Greg nodded and gave a wave before heading towards the kitchen while John headed back up the stairs.

Slipping silently into the bedroom, John let his eyes adjust to the dark, before going over to the window and opening the blinds to let in the sunlight. Sherlock growled sleepily, turning over and away from the light, and John smiled.

Walking over to the bed, John climbed on top, and carefully crawled over Sherlock, grinning. He was in a cheerful mood today. “Sherlock,” John whispered, leaning down and lightly rubbing his nose along Sherlock’s jaw, “Time to wake up.”

Sherlock gave a whine of protest, rolling onto his back as his body registered it to be John, and he visibly relaxed any tension in his body as John hovered over the Alpha. “Breakfast is ready,” John tried to persuade Sherlock, but all he got in reply was a soft grunt.

Thinking for a moment, John pressed a series of teasingly light kisses along Sherlock’s jaw. Sherlock’s eyes fluttered, but didn’t open. So, he was on the right track, then. John rubbed his cheek against Sherlock’s affectionately, and gently kissed along Sherlock’s eyebrows, down his nose, along his cheekbones – anywhere but his lips.

With a soft groan, Sherlock’s eyes blearily opened, and he stared at John with a small smile and whispered softly, “Tease.”

Chuckling, John pressed his lips against Sherlock’s, relaxing into the feel of it. Then, John pulled away and Sherlock growled at him, stretching up to press their lips back together. John allowed it for a few more moments, before pulling away again and whispering, “Everyone’s waiting for us.”

Sherlock grumbled in dissatisfaction, and settled back down before pouting playfully up at John. Unable to resist, John leant down for another kiss, and one of Sherlock’s hands snaked upwards to wrap around John’s neck and keep him there, and John realised that he’d fallen for Sherlock’s bait. Smiling, John didn’t resist, instead closing his eyes and returning the gentle slide of lips.

After a while, Sherlock allowed John to pull back, and he opened his eyes to stare down at Sherlock, sure his affection was written clear on his face and in his eyes. Sherlock was staring up at John with a warm smile, and John’s breath caught for a moment, before sitting up and clambering off of his mate and ignoring his growl of protest, “Come on,” John told Sherlock warmly.

Sherlock stayed in bed for a few more moment later (just, John thought, to show that he could) before sitting up with a sigh and clambering gracefully out of bed. John sat on the edge of the bed and openly watched Sherlock change out of his pyjamas and into daytime clothes, loose black pants, but a tight-fitting button up white shirt and a black jacket over the top. Turning, Sherlock caught John looking and smirk.

“See something you like?” Sherlock asked teasingly, making his way over to John and reaching out a hand to pull his mate up.

John took hold of Sherlock’s hand obediently and stood, taking the excuse to be in such close contact with Sherlock (not that he really needed the excuse) and inhaled deeply and gave a hum and a flirty smile up at Sherlock. “Perhaps,” he answered, just as teasingly, and reached up to press a kiss to Sherlock’s jaw before stepping back, but keeping hold of Sherlock’s hand.

His mate laughed softly, and John felt a warm feeling spread through him at the sound. It was nice, to be happy with his mate again. Even though they hadn’t properly mated (yet), Sherlock was the most important person in John’s life. No matter what happened, John would always fight to keep and protect Sherlock, and he could only hope that his Alpha would do the same.

 

* * *

 

Down in the kitchen everyone was, as John had told Sherlock, waiting for them. Except, it wasn’t like normal, with everyone laughing and smiling and talking, it was filled with discomfort and an extra werewolf who made John’s blood boil. Irene. And what she was doing was making John begin to see red in the edges of his vision, and tighten his hold on Sherlock’s hand.

She was sitting in _John’s_ seat, and was clearly making Molly uncomfortable.

“Oh, come on, dear,” she purred, leaning forward, eyes focussed intently on Molly (which was making Greg shift in his seat to probably prevent himself from doing something rash), and Molly was leaning back, looking like a cornered rabbit and her eyes flickering around.

“No,” Molly’s voice was small, and Irene pouted before reaching out towards Molly, and that was when John just snapped.

Pick on him, fine. Pick on Sherlock, fine, his mate could take care of himself. But one of his pack that was reasonable weak-willed and easily frightened? Fuck no.

“She said no,” John’s voice held a hint of a growl as he released Sherlock’s hand before his mate could do anything, and stormed forward, slapping his palm down on Irene’s hand and bringing it away from Molly, who looked visibly relieved.

Irene looked up at his glaring face, and a look of annoyance crossed her face. “Who do you think you are?” she demanded, “You can’t order me about. I can do what I damn well want!”

She obviously hadn’t seen Sherlock, and John straightened, glaring into her eyes. She didn’t look away, but he could tell that her wolf had recognised his rank, but her pride was forcing her to meet his gaze, and John stared her down, fuming. Nobody picked on his pack members and got away unscathed.

“He,” Sherlock broke in, stepping forward and lightly putting his hand on John’s back, “is my mate and you should show some respect, Irene.”

Irene’s head shot up, and her face rearranged itself into one of confusion and then anger as they flicked back to John, and then sweetness as she looked back at Sherlock. John continued to glare at her, pissed, but said no more as Sherlock lightly tapped on his back with a finger in warning, a minute movement which he was sure that no-one else would have caught.

“But-but Sherlock! I didn’t think you have a mate,” she said sweetly, and John knew everyone was watching them.

John tensed under Sherlock’s hand, but refused to turn to look at Sherlock and let Irene see his weakness. But, as Sherlock simply gave a short growl of discontent, and stepped forward and wrapped his arms around John’s waist and pressed along him, giving John a kiss to the cheek before saying, a hint of warning in his tone, “Well, you know now. I suggest you move out of his seat before I let him challenge you.”

Irene looked like she was going to protest, before she backed down, obviously realising the attention she had attracted, and no doubt both John and Sherlock’s glares, and stood with a stiff nod towards them before moving out of the room.

Satisfied, John turned to Molly and gave her a smile. “You alright?” he asked kindly, relaxing now that Irene was out of sight and taken care of.

She gave him a grateful smile in return and nodded, “Thank you,” she said quietly, her face flushing slightly.

John smiled at her warmly, “No problem, Molly. If anyone else bugs you, tell me,” he said, then added, “Or Sherlock.”

John felt Sherlock’s nod and felt pleased. Retracting himself from Sherlock’s grip, John sat down in _his_ seat. Everyone had visibly relaxed now that Irene was gone and that their Alphas had proved that they could efficiently take care of any threat that came to them. Satisfied, John turned slightly and saw Sherlock smiling at him, an expression of uncontrolled warmth on his face that John just had to look away.

Turning to the food on the table, John brightened as he saw that there were pancakes and cream today – his absolute _favourite_.

Thanking Mrs Hudson enthusiastically, John dug in. It was delicious, as always, and John hummed softly in content, catching Sherlock’s amused glance at him. It had only been a bit more than a week (but it felt like so much longer with how much had gone on) but John was still adjusting to the taste of such sweets that he’d never had when he’d been living with his father.

John knew that he could never give this up. Not Sherlock, nor Mrs Hudson, nor Greg, nor Molly, or any of them. They were his and Sherlock’s pack, and he loved them all as fiercely as any father did their children. Even though some of them were older than him, it was his and Sherlock’s shared responsibility to take care of each and every one of their pack; to love them and to make sure they were all safe and as content as could be.

Warmth filling him as he gazed around the table, at his pack-mates eating and his Alpha and mate, John smiled to himself, allowing his foot to brush against Sherlock’s under the table for the first time in days. Sherlock looked up, and smiled softly at John, the corners of his eyes crinkling slightly, and it was adorable.

No matter how angry and hurt that he had been – and still was, to some extent – he loved his bastard of an Alpha, and wouldn’t let anything come between them. It was expected for things to not go smoothly. They would fight and yell and scream and cry and storm off, but they were mates and they couldn’t be apart for long. It was almost physically impossible; an ache that was only soothed by the presence of the other.

Breakfast was filled with the usual cheer now that Irene was gone and John was content to just sit and listen and rub feet with his Alpha.

Occasionally, Greg would draw him into the conversation with a teasing remark and a smirk or a waggled eyebrow, and John would laugh and answer back with something equally as teasing. He caught Sherlock glancing between him and Greg, a slight frown on his face, and wondered what was wrong. Surely, it was a good thing that John was relaxing and interacting with the others comfortably?

 

* * *

 

After breakfast, John was more relaxed than he’d been in weeks. He felt like he was part of the pack, and that was good. Greg offered for him to come over for a cup of tea after breakfast as they’d collected the dishes, and John had smiled warmly and agreed. Greg was a good friend. He was understanding and helpful and tough, too. Always ready to lend a hand and an ear. Greg was strong too, but nowhere near as strong as Sherlock.

When John had next glanced over at Sherlock, the Alpha’s lips had tightened into a thin line, and he wasn’t looking at either of them.

Sherlock was still there when he and Greg emerged from the kitchen, talking comfortably. John had smiled at Sherlock in greeting, and the Alpha stood, striding over to them, eyes fixed on John, and wrapped him up in his arms, leaning down and pressing a firm kiss to John’s lips.

John was surprised for a mere moment, before he melted into the kiss, and placed his hands lightly on Sherlock’s deceptively slim hips. Sherlock hadn’t kissed him in front of anybody before, but it was a nice surprise. John’s eyes closed and a small sound escaped him as Sherlock nipped on his bottom lip, before he remembered Greg’s close proximity, and opened his eyes, pulling back slightly, knowing his face would be flushed.

“Sherlock,” John murmured gently, sliding a hand up to press against Sherlock’s chest, and glanced sideways at Greg, who was looking away and pretending to be interested in the wall.

Sherlock gave a low, possessive noise deep in his chest and pressed John closer for a few moments, longer, arms wrapped around John’s waist tightening for a moment, before he sighed, pressing a gentle kiss to John’s forehead and released him.

“Don’t forget about work,” Sherlock reminded him with a smile.

“I won’t,” John promised, “I probably won’t make it back in time for dinner, but maybe if you want we can share a bath after?”

Sherlock grinned, flashing his teeth, and nodded, stepping back and turning away, walking off in the direction of outside, probably to check on the patrol that would be returning soon.

John stared after him for a moment, before turning to Greg and blushing at the older werewolf’s raised eyebrows.

“I’ve no idea what that was about,” John said before Greg could ask.

Greg chuckled softly, shaking his head, and the pair headed out of the Alpha house and towards Greg’s own separate house that was just down the drive.

“I’ve an idea,” Greg confessed to John once they were safely indoors and aware from anyone who could overhear.

Heading into the kitchen to start the kettle, John gave a soft “hmm?” to encourage Greg to continue.

“Well, since you and Sherlock had a bit of a tiff, you’ve been spending more time with _me_. I don’t think the big bad Alpha likes that fact all that much,” Greg told him, and was grinning as John turned from where he was filling the kettle with water.

John took a moment to process that before saying in slight disbelief, “He’s _jealous_?”

Greg nodded with an amused smile and John said softly, “huh.”

 Then, “So _that’s_ why he looked annoyed when you invited me over?”

“Yup.”

“ _And_ why he kissed me in the kitchen?” John queried.

“Yup.”

“And why he didn’t want me to let go?”

“Yup.”

“And why he looked so pleased when I suggested for me and him to take a bath?”

Greg shot him and amused look, “Yup.”

“Huh,” John said again, setting the kettle over the stove and turning on the flames. “Idiot,” he said fondly, smiling and shaking his head.

“I would agree, but _I’m_ not the Alpha’s mate, so I can’t,” Greg said with a chuckle.

There was a silence for a few minutes, and it was comfortable, just listening to the kettle bubbling as he boiled. As John was pouring the tea, Greg spoke up once more.

“Have you two mated yet?”

John jerked, blushed a deep red, and then cursed softly as he accidentally poured boiling hot water onto the back of his right hand.

Setting down the kettle, John went to the sink and poured cold water onto the burn, shooting Greg a glare, who gave an apologetic shrug.

“No, we haven’t,” John said carefully. Then, after a paused, he asked hesitantly, “Should we have by now?”

Greg hummed for a moment, and John kept his back turned, heart pounding slightly faster in anticipation of Greg’s answer. “Well, it really just depends on the couple. But with you two, I think he’ll ask you soon,” Greg said.

John bit his lip to contain his smile. Greg had known Sherlock for quite some time, so he would have a good idea of Sherlock’s frame of mind about these kinds of things. Soon. Did that mean within the next couple of days?

John wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about this. Was he ready? He was certainly extremely comfortable with Sherlock and kissing, but his Alpha had never attempted to go any further than that. Maybe he was waiting to see if John was alright with it? John refused to dwell on the possibility that it was because Sherlock didn’t want to. No. He _did_. Sherlock had been the one to request him, and, really, he should have thought of this when he’d been jealous over Irene.

Would Greg have any information on Irene? Turning off the tap and inspecting the burn, grimacing as he saw the bright red patch on his hand, John turned and faced Greg. “Do you know who Irene Adler is?”

Greg tensed up, and shot John a look the younger werewolf couldn’t decipher. “Why?” Greg asked carefully, and John knew Greg was thinking back to breakfast.

“Because… she’s been hanging about with Sherlock, sneaking around in the night, and I just wanted to make sure they’re not…” John trailed off with a sigh, gaze dropping to the floor.

“John,” Greg said softly, before sighing. “I really, _really_ shouldn’t tell you this.”

John looked up hopefully at Greg. He was desperate for any and all information on Irene Adler and why she was so interested in Sherlock.

Greg sighed again as he took in John’s face and began. “Right, well, when Sherlock and Irene were little, they were in the same pack – Sherlock’s parent’s pack. They were friends. Best of friends, to be totally honest. Irene was in love with Sherlock. She was always causing trouble and trying to get him to notice her, but he only thought of her as a friend. When they grew up, Irene moved out of the pack and into another’s, and then – the part I _really_ shouldn’t tell you – she requested Sherlock as a mate. Sherlock refused.”

John’s eyes widened. Sherlock _refused_ to go? That… hadn’t happened all that much. It was extremely rare for that kind of thing to happen, in fact.

Puffing out a breath, Greg continued. “So, Irene, naturally, was pissed. She ranted and she raged and she sulked. And then she just… disappeared. Vanished. Like she’d never existed. And now, she’s mated. A wolf called Jim Moriarty. Thing is, they both absolutely hate Sherlock’s guts, but for different reasons. Irene, because of her heartbreak, and Jim because his pack was scorned by the Holmes’ pack long ago when they were little, and he’s carried a grudge since.”

John took a moment to sit and absorb these facts. Then, he frowned up at the older werewolf. “But why is Sherlock letting her come and go as she pleases?” John questioned.

Greg sighed softly. “Because Sherlock has a misplaced sense of duty. He’s trying to make things right between them so that the attacks on the border don’t get worse, and she’s just using him to and toying with him to get back at him.”

There was a silence for a few moments, before Greg said hesitantly, “If I were you, I’d bond with Sherlock. Now that she knows you’re his mate, she’s going to be aiming for you, especially after what happened at breakfast. Once you’re properly bonded and part of the pack, you’ll be safer.”

John nodded, and took his tea, sipping on the hot liquid.

He needed to bond with Sherlock. He’d bring it up after he got home, John decided with a nod. That would work.


	9. The Mating

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right, so this chapter is basically just sex. If you dislike that, whelp, can't help you. It's unavoidable. Anyway, I was meant to update this sooner, but I didn't have internet access till now, so here you guys go! Hope you enjoy it :)

John’s mind was whirring with all the information that he had gotten from Greg that morning. But, he had to push it out of his head as he arrived at work. The physical work was welcoming. John was used to be doing lots of hard work on a daily basis from his father, and sitting around in a house all day wasn’t all that appealing to him. John needed to keep fit and have his muscles, needed to be strong so that he could deal with whatever came up. Whether it was fights or challenges, or anything, really.

Picking fruit for hours and carting heavy basketfuls of them to and fro left him no chance to dwell on things, or overthink, and it left him exhausted, which he loved.

By the time he finished his shift, John was tired, but not as tired as he had been the last time he had finished. Good. He was getting stronger and used to it.

John was nervous and excited at the same time by the time he opened the door to the Alpha house and walked in. Most people had retired to their rooms or their separate houses, and John revelled in the quiet. Hopefully Sherlock was still awake so that they could bathe together. John wanted to ask Sherlock to mate.

After what Greg had told him about Irene, he understood why Sherlock was doing what he was. Besides, John was comfortable enough now, and he was ready. He’d bring it up, and see what happened. Hopefully, they would be mated very, very soon.

As John crept quietly up the stairs and towards their bedroom, John noticed the light was flickering and could only come from the fire, and sighed softly, thinking that Sherlock must be sleeping. Oh well. He’d shower quickly and join Sherlock in bed and bring up mating tomorrow.

As John quietly pushed open the door, he stopped still in surprise. The fire was indeed lit, and there were candles lighting their bedroom, hundreds of them, and a trail of rose petals that led into the bathroom. Curious, John shut the door and toed off his shoes and socks and left them by the dresser, and shucked off his jacket, chucking it into the washing basket as he passed by (still needed to do the washing at some point, their basket was about to over-flow), and pushed open the bathroom door, standing still.

There were even more rose petals in here, covering the floor, in the bath (which was steaming), and there were candles covering every surface except for the floor and the edges of the bath. Sherlock was lighting the last candle, and straightened as he caught sight of John, a warm smile on his face as he blew out the match. “John,” Sherlock greeted warmly, “Welcome home.”

John gazed around in shock, licking his lips, and going to speak, but no words would come out. Sherlock had done all this, for him? For them? No one had ever done something so nice for John before, and he loved it. A lot. So much that he couldn’t even speak, apparently.

Sherlock was watching him intently, and as John didn’t speak, he ran a hand through his wild curls in a gesture of nervousness, and said, “I thought you might like it. Romance and all that other sentimental stuff.”

John wasn’t looking at Sherlock (he feared that if he did, then he would start crying and _that_ would be extremely embarrassing), and Sherlock stepped closer, asking softly, “John?”

John looked up and caught Sherlock’s worried expression, and flung himself at his Alpha, who caught him with a soft grunt, and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck, bringing his head down for a kiss, trying to express what he couldn’t in words.

Sherlock’s chest rumbled in content against him, and John pulled back, breathing out, “I _love_ it, Sherlock. Thank you.”

Sherlock grinned at him bringing him in for another kiss, his tongue delving into John’s mouth and exploring the other werewolf’s mouth possessively.

Pulling back finally, John grinned up at Sherlock. “We’d better get in before the water runs cold,” John suggested, tugging Sherlock’s shirt out of his trousers.

“I agree,” Sherlock rumbled softly, undoing John’s belt and unbuttoning his trousers, pushing them down as well as his pants.

John wiggled his hips so they fell down and he stepped out of them. Pushing down Sherlock’s pants and trousers in turn, John started on Sherlock’s buttons, not rushing.

Sherlock leant forward and sniffed at the collar of John’s shirt, before grinning, “You wore my shirt to work,” he said, pleased.

John shrugged with a small smile, “I ran out of shirts. I really need to get around to doing a load of washing,” John explained, “I figured that you wouldn’t mind.”

Sherlock shook his head, “I don’t mind at all. Now it smells of me, you and sweat. Perfect.”

John chuckled softly, and smoothed his hands up Sherlock’s chest and over his shoulders, pushing off Sherlock’s shirt, leaving his Alpha standing in front of him, completely nude. John went to unbutton his own shirt, but Sherlock batted his hands away gently and unbuttoned his shirt quickly and with familiar ease, pushing John’s shirt off of his shoulders. Stepping back for a moment, he looked John over critically, eyeing the fading bruises that were the last evidence of his father, the multiple scars and his still too-skinny body.

John looked away, unable to face such a piercing gaze take in his (ugly, horrible, unworthy, disgusting) body. Sherlock’s hand cupped his jaw, fingers curling in the familiar and soothing way, fingertips gently touching the corner of his jaw, and turning John’s face to face him.

“You’re gorgeous, John,” Sherlock murmured, throwing John for a loop.

All his life, he’d been told he was disgusting and horrible and not worth anything. And here Sherlock was, in all his handsome glory, telling John that he was gorgeous. It just didn’t fit with what he knew.

Staring up at Sherlock’s face, he could detect no lie, only honesty and affection. Sherlock truly thought that John was gorgeous.

“I-,” John’s voice cracked and he leant forward, burying his face in Sherlock’s chest, breathing in the delicious scent of mint and musky pine.

Sherlock’s arms wrapped around him, chin resting on top of John’s blonde hair, and they stayed like that for a moment, before Sherlock adjusted his grip and lifted him up. Surprised, John squeaked embarrassingly, and clutched at his mate as Sherlock’s deep chuckle filled his ears.

Then, Sherlock was sitting in the water, adjusting John so that he was between his legs, John’s back resting against Sherlock’s chest. John shifted so that he was comfortable, drawing Sherlock’s strong arms around his waist and leaning back, resting his head against Sherlock’s surprisingly comfortable shoulder.

It was just as good as the first time that they’d bathed together, John thought contently, sighing in happiness.

“Where did you get all the rose petals?” John questioned, a trace of amusement in his tone.

Sherlock hummed softly, a vibration that he could feel through his back, and answered, “The gardens. I got Lestrade to help me. Took a few hours, but we got there eventually.”

John laughed, surprised. “ _Greg_ helped you? I bet he loved that,” John chuckled, shaking his head fondly.

Sherlock nipped lightly on his ear. “He didn’t object.”

“Mm, but that doesn’t mean he enjoyed it,” John told Sherlock with a smile, turning so that their fronts were pressed together, and pressed a series of kisses along Sherlock’s jaw, making his mate hum happily.

“How’s your leg?” John asked between kisses on Sherlock’s right cheek.

“Fine,” Sherlock mumbled, lifting his injured leg slightly, and John abandoned Sherlock’s face for a few moments (which made Sherlock grumble slightly) to twist around, and inspected Sherlock’s leg.

There was only a faint scar left, and Sherlock had unwound the bandaging at some point, and John conceded that Sherlock must have transformed either sometime today or yesterday. That was good. Sherlock wouldn’t be in pain anymore, or limping. Perfect.

John smiled happily and pressed kisses to Sherlock’s left cheek now. “Good. Can’t have you injured and not at full strength,” John said against Sherlock’s skin, rubbing their noses together in a gesture that appeased both their wolf sides, and a content rumble was coming from Sherlock’s chest.

“Greg brought up something today, and it got me thinking,” John murmured against Sherlock’s skin as he kissed along Sherlock’s jaw, ignoring the slight frown Sherlock gave at the mention of Greg. Taking a deep breath, John declared, “I want for us to mate.”

John pulled back to look at Sherlock and take in his reaction. Sherlock was completely still and silent for a few moments, before he relaxed again, and gave John a smile that warmed his eyes.

“Are you positive, John?” Sherlock questioned in a smooth voice, making John shiver, “I don’t want to rush you.”

“You’re not rushing me,” John promised softly, and Sherlock’s eyes darkened slightly with anticipation. “Neither of us have morning patrol tomorrow, and I’m sure they’ll be nothing of importance going on. It’ll be the weekend, and we can just stay up in our room…”

Sherlock hummed softly, a pleased smile on his face, “You’ve thought this out,” Sherlock said, obviously pleased.

John gave a shy smile and a nod. He had. Well, sort of. Thought it out enough to know that they wouldn’t be disturbed unless it was absolutely necessary.

Sherlock’s grip tightened around his waist, and John smiled for a moment, before Sherlock bent his head down and his lips were occupied in a much more pleasant way. John closed his eyes and leant slightly into the kiss, his wet arms coming up out of the water and wrapping around Sherlock’s neck and his fingers tangling in his Alpha’s curly hair. Sherlock nipped lightly against his lower lip and John hummed softly before his lips parted and Sherlock’s hot, demanding tongue was in his mouth and claiming him without words and it was wonderful and possessive, and rather arousing.

John’s fingers gently explored Sherlock’s hair as Sherlock very thoroughly explored his mouth. Nothing escaped Sherlock’s tongue, and John made a small noise of pleasure as Sherlock’s hands crept up his back, steadily massaging his muscles. Sherlock smirked into the kiss, and John pulled back, needing to breathe, and Sherlock merely diverted his attention briefly to John’s skin, placing kisses along his jaw like John had been doing to him earlier.

Sherlock nipped lightly at his jaw, and John gasped softly, a shiver running through him despite the warmth that he was currently feeling. John had never done anything like this, and he was sure that Sherlock knew that, and he was being so gentle and careful, and John found himself slipping that bit more in love with Sherlock.

John ran his fingers through Sherlock’s hair, tugging lightly and relishing the moan that he got from Sherlock at the action. Sherlock seemed to have sensitive hair, and John stored the information away for when he might need it. Sherlock’s mouth moved down his neck and John shifted slightly, tilting his head back and moving his hips slightly and gasping softly as he felt Sherlock’s half-hard erection against his stomach, and whimpered softly at the feel of it, and Sherlock gave a short growl of approval.

John’s own cock was beginning to take interest, especially as Sherlock sucked a piece of skin from his neck into mouth and lightly biting as well, which made John moan and clutch at his mate almost desperately.

“Out,” Sherlock demanded, voice slightly muffled as it was still occupied by leaving a mark on John’s neck, “Bed. _Now_.”

Sherlock let go of his neck with a wet ‘pop’ and John shivered, his eyes opening and taking in Sherlock’s aroused expression. That was all he needed to see before he was lifting himself up and off of Sherlock and out of the bath, reaching for a towel and hurriedly drying himself off as Sherlock hefted himself from the bath gracefully and unplugging the bath and stepping out. John’s gaze dropped to Sherlock’s growing erection, watching it bob and curve up towards the Alpha’s pale belly, and all John could think was that that was going to be inside of him soon.

Sherlock took the towel from him, his intense gaze sweeping over John, and John let go of it instantly, as dry as he needed to be, and Sherlock smirked as he playfully smacked John’s arse and nodded towards the bed. John didn’t hesitate, instead heading straight to the bed. There, John hesitated for a moment, warring with himself between practicality and instinct. Practicality demanded that he moved the sheets to the end of the bed, whilst instinct demanded he make a nest for himself under the dark covers where it would be just him and Sherlock and nothing else. Instinct won out, and he burrowed underneath the sheets, inhaling the scent of them both and relaxing immensely, pulling the blankets up over his head. His head wasn’t on the pillows, but he didn’t care.

It wasn’t long before Sherlock was pulling back the blankets, which made John give a protesting whine, but Sherlock shushed him softly and climbed on top of him with his strong body, and pulled the blankets back up over them both firmly, which made John relax, pleased.

Sherlock bent his head down and claimed John’s mouth in another kiss, searing hot and sending all of the blood down to John’s erection, which was steadily growing harder. Sherlock’s fingers roamed down his side and down his chest, and soon John began to wiggle slightly, a soft whimper escaping him, wanting more. Sherlock kissed down his neck, sucking marks every so often, and down his chest.

To John’s surprise, Sherlock kissed and licked every one of his scars, his actions tender, overlaying the bad memories with a good one. John had an awful lot of scars, and yet Sherlock took the time to pay attention to each and every one. John was being treated like he was precious and cherished, and he’d never experienced it before, and he didn’t realise that he was crying until Sherlock had kissed each and every scar and started kissing his tears away.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” John whispered, clutching at Sherlock and closing his eyes.

“Don’t be sorry,” Sherlock murmured, “It’s alright.”

John gave a soft laugh, “Why are you so perfect?” he questioned with a soft sigh, opening his eyes and staring up at Sherlock to catch his Alpha’s self-satisfied grin.

Sherlock pressed a kiss to each of his eyelids, and moved back down John’s body, spreading his thighs and settling between them like he belonged there.

John heard a soft click, and looked down to see that Sherlock was holding a jar in his hand, grinning. “Oil and lavender and rose water,” Sherlock answered before John could question, and dipped two fingers inside, slicking them up.

John watched, unable to tear his gaze away, as Sherlock kissed up each of his thighs. One of Sherlock’s slick fingers lightly probed at his entrance, and John shivered, relaxing. Sherlock’s fingertip slid into him and John moaned lightly. It was an odd feeling, but a pleasurable one, especially as Sherlock began to slid his finger in and out, slowly increasing the depth of his finger until it was all the way in and John’s hips were pushing back against him, head pressed back against the bed and eyes closed, hands clutching at Sherlock’s strong shoulders to ground himself as he panted lightly.

John moaned again, louder, as a second finger joined Sherlock’s first. John shuddered in pleasure as Sherlock began licking and nipping at any piece of skin he could reach. John arched his back, moaning Sherlock’s name as his mate found a spot inside of him that made him shudder and shake with pure pleasure.

He could feel Sherlock’s smirk against his thigh, and Sherlock murmured, “Prostate, my dear. Feels good, hmm?”

John could only let out a shaky sigh and a nod. Sherlock’s chuckle vibrated against his leg, and John’s hips jerked down at the first hint of a third finger, sighing in pleasure at the burn as he took it in to the base knuckle.

Sherlock let John fuck back onto his fingers for a few moments, before retracting them, making John whine and pant as he opened his eyes. Sherlock was coating his cock in the concoction, and then sealing the jar closed and shifting to place it down off the bed. Then, he moved up the bed, forearms flat against the bed and kissed John roughly, passionately and John melted back against the bed.

“Are you ready?” Sherlock asked in a low rumble, and John looked up at him, and nodded.

Sherlock pressed kisses all along his face as he slowly slid into John’s body. John gasped and trembled at the burn, clutching at Sherlock and squeezing his eyes shut firmly. “I’m sorry,” Sherlock murmured, pausing as he was all the way inside of John.

John tried to even his breathing, and after the burn subsided, John breathed deep and said softly, “It’s alright. I’m good now. You can move.”

When Sherlock hesitated, John started moving himself, shifting his hips up so Sherlock slid out slightly, and then sinking back down with a moan. Sherlock trembled slightly, and John realised he was holding back on him. “Sherlock!” John growled out, nipping at Sherlock’s jaw challengingly.

That snapped Sherlock into action, and he began thrusting, hard, into John, the bed shifting and hitting the wall with the force. John grunted in pleasure, scraping his nails lightly down Sherlock’s back at the pleasure he was feeling. Sherlock’s stomach brushed against his cock with every hard thrust, and it was sending sparks of pleasure through him. Sherlock was growling lightly, sucking even more marks into John’s skin. After a moment, he shifted so he was kneeling and not resting his weight on his forearms, and tugged John’s legs up around his legs. John crossed his ankles and used his grip from his legs to tug Sherlock deeper at every thrust, moaning at the new angle and the way Sherlock was brushing his prostate with every other thrust.

John was quickly tumbling towards his climax, and he opened his eyes to stare up at Sherlock’s sweating face, to find his mate was staring back down at him, pupils blown wide with arousal, and his canines were extended, his mouth open as he stared down at John hungrily and John realised that, yes, his own canines had extended without his knowledge. John’s gaze fixed on Sherlock’s neck, and he didn’t even notice Sherlock’s own gaze, and he used his arms around Sherlock’s neck to help lift himself up, groaning at the even better angle, his body beginning to tense, drawing a long moaning growl out of Sherlock, before John sank his teeth into the side of Sherlock’s neck and jerking in surprise as he felt teeth pierce his own neck at the same time.

John knew that it was blood that was seeping into his mouth as he lapped at the skin under his mouth, but he couldn’t have cared less as he climaxed with absolutely no stimulation to his cock whatsoever. John’s eyes closed as he moaned Sherlock’s name, his entire body tensing as his hips thrust through it, feeling Sherlock’s hot seed filling him up, and heard Sherlock’s grunt, before both of their bodies went lax.

John released Sherlock’s neck as his canines retracted, and sleepily lapped at the bite-mark, enjoying the comforting weight of Sherlock on top of him and still filling him. John sighed softly, content and happy, feeling the echo of Sherlock’s happiness in his head, before he drifted off into sleep.

* * *

 

John woke several times during the night, and each time they made love again and again, revelling in the new connection and sealing the bond between them, which was becoming stronger the longer they were together.

 _John_. Sherlock’s voice in his head woke him, and John grumbled softly, burying his face into Sherlock’s neck, and tightened his grip around Sherlock’s waist. _John_.

 _What?_ John groaned out mentally, shifting and relishing in the ache in his arse.

_We need to clean up._

_ What time is it? _

Sherlock shifted away from him, and John growled his displeasure, only to instantly quieten at Sherlock’s return growl, his resistance subsiding as he instinctively reacted to his Alpha.

 _3am. Sunday. We’ve slept and had sex through the entire weekend, John._ Sherlock’s voice held a tone of amusement.

 _Why now? Can’t we just wait a few more hours?_ John pleaded mentally, but his body was already waking up, and he sighed.

_Unless you want to walk about carrying out dirty sheets with everyone watching, I suggest you wake._

John groaned aloud, and pulled away to rub at his eyes tiredly. _It’s not like they don’t already know what we’re doing…_ But John knew that he was going to do as Sherlock suggested.

On Saturday, Lestrade had tried to come into the room to check on them, and Sherlock had flipped, turning into wolf and snarling and snapping his teeth at his second in command as he stalked towards the open door where Lestrade was frozen, John safely hidden under the blankets, but the musk of sex was clear in the air. Lestrade had turned tail and ran, shutting the door, as Sherlock crouched, tensing to leap and defend his mate and their territory, and that had led to a round of hot, hard possessive sex. After that, Lestrade had meals set outside their door, and no one disturbed them.

John chuckled lightly at the memory, and Sherlock grumbled, peeking into his head to see why he was laughing, before scowling. “He shouldn’t have entered,” Sherlock defended himself.

“I’m kind of glad he did,” John teased softly with a wink, leaning up to kiss Sherlock softly.

“Are you really going to let me get up and about with a sore arse?” John wondered, pouting up at his mate.

“I thought that maybe after breakfast we could go and play in the woods,” Sherlock rumbled softly, smiling down at John softly.

John brightened at the idea. “Alright,” he agreed.

Sitting up, John stretched, grimacing slightly at a pang to his arse. “You can go shower, and I’ll start the laundry, and meet you at breakfast,” John told Sherlock.

His Alpha nodded and gave him a quick kiss before heading off in the direction of the bathroom. John rolled off of the bed and was quick to strip the bed of its soiled sheets, bundling them up and pushing them into the washing basket. Quickly pulling on a pair of Sherlock’s pants and trousers and a loose shirt, John picked up the basket and snuck downstairs. Heading into the laundry room, he filled up a basket with water and suds, grabbed a board and began to scrub their clothing clean, putting them in a spare basket to hang up later. It took John two hours to scrub all of their washing clean, and went outside, hanging them up to dry and creeping back inside.

In their room, he found Sherlock replacing their sheets with clean ones, and John smiled before he went into the bathroom, quickly showering, and towelled himself off, looking in the mirror. He didn’t feel self-conscious anymore, Sherlock had fixed that by muttering praises as he kissed and licked his scars, and he was surprised by the amount of marks Sherlock had managed to suck into his skin. Then, he leant close and examined the bite mark on the side of his neck with a smile. He traced the mark lightly with his fingertips. It was massive, but he supposed that with Sherlock being an Alpha, of course it would be.

Getting redressed in entirely Sherlock’s clothes, John emerged from the bathroom feeling refreshed, and found Sherlock stretched out on the bed.

John went over and clambered onto the bed next to him, cuddling up into his side and yawning widely. Sherlock turned and wrapped his arms around him, pressing a kiss to his temple tenderly.

 _Do you want to sleep a bit more, my dear? We have an hour or two before breakfast_.

 _That would be good._ John sent Sherlock a mental picture of waffles covered in whipped cream and syrup with fruit on the side, and heard his mate’s chuckle before he fell asleep.

* * *

 

John woke up to Sherlock gently shaking him, and John heaved out a heavy sigh before opening his eyes. Sherlock greeted him with a smile before giving him a gentle kiss on the lips. John hummed happily, pleased, and questioned without breaking the kiss, _Breakfast?_

 _Waffles and fruit._ Sherlock promised, and John grinned.

“Good,” he breathed, and sat up, gently pushing Sherlock off of him.

Sherlock returned his grin, and gripped John’s hand, helping him up and walking with him over to the door. They walked down the stairs, Sherlock smirking in satisfaction but trying to hide it as John grimaced and cursed softly with each step jarring his arse.

John lightly slapped Sherlock’s arm playfully and scowled up at him when he noticed. Sherlock merely shrugged and tugged John close, abandoning his hand to wrap his long arm around John’s waist, bending to whisper in his ear playfully, “I like knowing you’ll be feeling it for a while.”

John’s face flushed just as they entered the dining room, and he shot Sherlock a glare as he turned his attention to the room. Everyone was already seated.

Greg was pointedly ignoring looking at either of them, Molly was flushing lightly, and Mrs Hudson was shooting them knowing looks while Mike looked satisfied.

Sherlock kissed John on the cheek as he drew out the shorter werewolf’s chair for him, which John sat on and retaining a grimace.

 _Comfortable?_ Sherlock teased lightly, shooting him a look as he sat down on his own seat.

 _Could do with a pillow_ , John grumbled, _or ten, at this rate._

Sherlock snorted in amusement, and John brushed their feet together casually. He loved talking to Sherlock like this, where no one else could hear their conversations.

 

* * *

 

After breakfast, after John had dropped off their dishes to the kitchen with Mrs Hudson and an apology, John and Sherlock went outside, stripped, and turned into their wolf forms. John gazed at Sherlock’s form appreciatively.

 _Careful, John,_ Sherlock warned in amusement, tail flicking John lightly on the nose, _if you keep staring at me like that I might just have to take you out here in the open in wolf form._

John snorted, and started trotting after Sherlock into the forest, _And then you’d attack everyone who’d seen._

Sherlock paused for a moment, gazing at him, before licking his nose and flashing John a wolfy smirk. _Of course. You’re **my** mate, and I won’t allow anyone to see you like that. Just me._

Sherlock nuzzled the fur on John’s neck tenderly, before slowing his pace and playfully nipping at John’s arse.

 _Oi!_ John protested just as playfully, _That’s sore enough, thank you!_

 _Mm, I could make it even more sore, if you want,_ Sherlock offered, a rumble coming from his chest as he nuzzled John’s butt, licking the fur.

 _Not here, Sherlock!_ John protested.

_Why?_

_ Because no! _

As Sherlock showed no signs of giving up, John sprinted away from his mate, flicking his mate’s nose with his tail as a firm no.

John could hear Sherlock catching up to him, his long legs making it easy, and glanced back at him to see Sherlock relaxing.

 _John!_ Sherlock sounded worried, his tone an order punctuated with a sharp bark, and John looked back in front of him to see a large wolf appear from the other side of the border.

As the brute charged at him, John didn’t think, or hesitate, bunching his muscles and leaping over him, landing and rolling, his back hitting a tree and grunting.

He heard Sherlock’s deep, ferocious snarl, and almost pitied the other wolf. John lay panting on the ground for a few moments, and by the time he got up, Sherlock had sent the other wolf off with his tail between his legs. Sherlock rushed over to him, nuzzling him and checking for injuries.

 _Are you okay? John!_ Sherlock demanded worriedly.

 _I’m fine,_ John assured Sherlock, nosing his mate affectionately, _Thank you_.

If it hadn’t been for their bond, John would be worse off, he was sure. He would only have a sore back thanks to Sherlock.

 _They’re getting bolder, Sherlock,_ John said gently, _You have to do something. Stop them for good._

Sherlock visibly hesitated, and John rubbed his head under Sherlock’s chin, _Please, Sherlock. For me. So they never harm any of us ever again._

Sherlock sighed out, but nodded. _For you. My precious mate._ Sherlock promised, and John relaxed, licking his mate’s neck tenderly.

 _Thank you_. 


	10. Secrets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: DESCRIPTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND DEATH(S)

Over the next few days, there was no noticeable change. John still went to work, and Irene still flitted in and out of the house whenever it pleased her. It made John mad. Extremely mad. Sherlock had _promised_ that he would do something about her, about the pack that was attacking their borders. And yet, whenever John brought up the subject, Sherlock would smile at him and promise that he was, indeed, doing something about it, and then kiss him and distract John away from the subject. It was incredibly frustrating.

Three weeks went by, and John got grouchy. He didn’t feel like sex with Sherlock, he didn’t feel like doing much more than cuddling and kissing, if that. It wasn’t like he was punishing Sherlock, he just honestly didn’t feel like sex. And he ate more. A _lot_ more. But, he burnt it off quickly with work and patrols. Sherlock joined the patrols occasionally, and John thoroughly enjoyed those times.

Most of the time, Sherlock was off somewhere, doing God-knows-what. But he was always there for breakfast and dinner. When Sherlock was around, he would catch his Alpha looking at him with an odd, but pleasant, fond expression on his face. John had no idea what it was about, but he never brought it up. John didn’t feel the need to question Sherlock about every tiny little detail.

John was sitting in the living room, talking with Molly and Greg, chatting happily and laughing, and Irene wandered in, in her auburn wolf form, trailing dirt over the floors that Mrs Hudson had helped John clean, and John saw red.

He’d had enough of her arrogant attitude, the way she came and went and no one said anything. He’d had enough of the way that she was playing with Sherlock, obviously getting information and then relaying it back to her mate, Moriarty.

Snarling loudly, he leapt off of the couch and transformed into his wolf form, baring his teeth and snapping at her as he chased her from the house, nipping at her ankles in warning, hackles raised.

There was a surprised silence as John stood, panting from anger, in the doorway of the house, before he slammed the door shut with his nose. John could feel Sherlock reaching out to him with his mind, calming him down, but John shoved it aside, slamming down a wall. He wanted to be angry at her. He wanted to brew for a while. Sherlock wasn’t here, and John would use his anger to be helpful.

Stalking into the kitchen, John returned naked as a human, with a bucket of soapy water and a sponge, and began to vigorously scrub at the floors. “I just cleaned these,” he grumbled unhappily, and looked up in surprise at the sound of light footsteps, and saw Molly approaching shyly with a sponge.

Smiling at her, John nudged the bucket over a bit, and they began to scrub at the floors in silence. John scrubbed his anger away, taking it out of the dirt stains, and gradually withdrew the wall. Sherlock was worried, and greeted his mind warmly when the wall was lifted, but he’d been giving him his space.

 _Have you seen Irene?_ Sherlock questioned him softly.

 _Why? Are you actually going to do something about her?_ John snarked, unsure where his anger was coming from. He blamed it on the Irene. He hated her so much.

There was a pause, in which John sat back and examined the floor before nodding in satisfaction and smiling at Molly and thanking her softly.

Picking up the bucket, Molly put the sponges inside and John went to tip it out.

 _Come upstairs, my precious mate,_ Sherlock murmured into his mind soothingly.

John hesitated for a moment, and tipped out the water into the grass out the back, before he put it in the laundry and headed upstairs, curious.

Upon opening the door, John found the room to be dimly lit, even though it was the day, with curtains drawn across the windows and most of the light was dimmed, with only the familiar roar of the fire. John drew in a breath as he stepped in and shut the door behind him before abruptly stopping. Home. This was what this felt like, what it smelt like. John felt safe here, and he headed towards the bed curiously, plucking curiously at the shirts and trousers and pants that were scattered over and under the sheets, before realisation hit him and he stopped.

This was a nest. Sherlock had made him a nest. John’s eyes watered at the sweet gesture. The nest was something that usually the less dominant wolf made and it was something that made them feel safe; a mixture of the two bonded wolves with clothes and items so that when the wolf curled in it, it gave off a mixture of protection and safety.

 _Sherlock?_ John reached out with his mind as he wiped at his eyes, and then eagerly clambered into the nest. All he needed now was his Alpha to be here and it would be complete.

 _I thought that you would like it. I’ll be out for the day and won’t be home until late, so I figured it was the least I could do for you_. Sherlock’s voice was warm in his mind, and John liked the warm feeling it sent through him.

 _I love it._ John responded, sending out a wave of love towards Sherlock and closing his eyes as he curled under the sheets and drew them up over him. He might take a nap.

_Good. Are you going to take a nap, my dear?_

_ Mmm, yes. It’s so lovely, Sherlock. Thank you. _

 

* * *

 

 

John woke up to snarls and growls. Instantly on alert, John bolted up and jumped out of the bed before he’d truly registered moving. Uncaring that he’d stripped at some point and added his clothes to the nest, John sprinted out of the room, pounding down the stairs and outside. What he saw was a lot of wolves fighting.

 _Sherlock, you need to come home._ John told Sherlock before shifting into wolf and launching himself into the fray.

 _What’s going on?_ Sherlock asked, worry and confusion evident in his voice as John howled and started taking down the enemy pack, absolutely furious. This was Moriarty’s pack. The ones that had been troubling Sherlock’s pack for ages.

 _Just come home. We need you here_. John then slammed a wall down. He didn’t want to be distracted by Sherlock and then end up getting hurt because he’d been listening to Sherlock instead of paying attention to what was around him.

John spotted Molly being pinned to the ground by a fierce enemy wolf, and was prepared to go over and save her, when he saw Greg tackling the wolf and taking care of him. Spinning, John tackled another wolf, and spotted Irene. Her! He recognised her scent and her wolf form from when she had trailed dirt into the house earlier, and his brain flashed him back to the time when he and Sherlock had gone for a run in the woods. She was the auburn wolf! And she was turning against John and Sherlock’s pack! She had her lips pulled back in a snarl as she stood next a small, unassuming black wolf with glinting dark eyes. That had to be Moriarty.

Snarling in rage at finally getting the chance to pay back the people who had caused his mate so much harm, John charged at them, and knocked Moriarty down to the ground, clawing at him. Moriarty was small, and slim, and slippery as a fish, but John was strong and held his paws on Moriarty’s shoulders as he clawed at him with his back paws.

John was knocked off of Moriarty with a snarl from Irene, and then they were tumbling in clash of teeth and claws. They blindly attacked at each other, trying to cause harm. John managed to rip Irene’s ear with a claw, but she got the upper hand for a moment and pinned him down, but John growled at her and then used his hind legs to push up at her belly and wind her as well as throwing her off.

John was tackled by another wolf, and Moriarty and Irene slipped into the thicker part of the fight. Snarling in a blind rage, John clawed and kicked and bit until the other wolf was staggering off of him, and John was up in a flash, bounding to a thinner area and surveying it. Moriarty’s wolves were obviously trying to get into the house, but were being held back. John felt a moment of intense pride wash through him, before he continued looking around. There. Irene and Moriarty were near the woods, and John focussed in on them. The pack could handle the rest of the goons for a while, but to really get them to go, they had to do something about Moriarty and Irene – the pack leaders.

Besides, Sherlock would hopefully arrive soon, and then the rest of the pack could be driven off. Allowing the rage that had collected in him to rise to the front as he focussed on the two Alphas, and then skirted the fight and aimed for him. They obviously saw him coming and raced off into the woods. They were fast, and quick, but John was faster. Slowly, he was catching up to them, his gaze trained on them.

They split up and went in different directions, but John didn’t hesitate, racing after Moriarty instead of Irene. Irene wouldn’t go far from her mate, not in times like this. Tackling the Alpha, they rolled and John managed to get on top, Moriarty’s neck in his jaws as he squeezed, seeing red as everything that he had heard about Moriarty and what he’d done to Sherlock – his mate, his Alpha – rose to the front of his mind and made him even more mad. With a crunch, Moriarty stilled underneath him and John hardly registered the blood seeping into his mouth as he panted hard.

Releasing the black neck under him, panting hard, he was surprised as he was suddenly tackled in the side with a shrill snarl. It was an odd, heartbroken sound.

Irene. She’d come back for her mate when she’d felt their bond break.

Snarling and raging, his anger not yet spent, John turned on Irene. She put up a fight, but John was still too pissed to do anything but pin her to the ground and grab her neck his jaws and shake his head viciously from side to side until her neck snapped and she slumped to the ground.

Panting harshly, John stepped off of her and stared at the bodies, dread welling up in him. Oh god. What had he done? He’d just killed two people.

Disgusted with himself, John turned and fled the scene. He wanted to go home, to the nest, to Sherlock, to the safety of his pack. But how could he? How could he expect Sherlock to welcome him back as warmly as he always did? He was a _murderer_. He’d killed two people, whilst not in cold blood, it was close.

John splashed through a stream, tempted to release the wall in his mind for a few moments, and then the blood seeped out of his fur and John instantly threw away that thought. He didn’t want Sherlock to see or find him like this.

He just wanted to be left alone.

Finding a hollow under a tree, John curled up in his wolf form, shivering and wet, and closed his eyes, slipping into an uneasy sleep, disliking being away from his mate and the pack, but he deemed it necessary.

* * *

 

John awoke to a sharp back and the pattering of rain and feet padding towards his tree. John curled in on himself, eyes still closed and he knew that both the tree hollow and the rain would hide him. Whilst John wasn’t a dark-coloured wolf, night was falling and the tree was concealing him well, as was the rain which was washing away his scent from any that wanted to try and track him.

John’s eyes shot open as teeth sunk into his scruff and roughly dragged him out of the hollow, a fierce growl rumbling into John’s ears. John recognised the scent of Sherlock and went limp, whining softly.

Sherlock dumped him on the ground and stood over him for a moment before pressing his body down into John’s, forcing John to submit and stay absolutely still.

The snapping of teeth by his ear made John shudder and hesitantly lift the wall from his mind, instantly being bombarded by Sherlock raging at him. John shrank into the ground. He knew most of Sherlock’s anger came from worry and fear, and it was probably stupid of John to bring Sherlock to the battle and then suddenly disappear without letting his mate know that he was alright and not dead.

 _Come on,_ Sherlock snapped, stepping off of him, _we’re going home. And then you’re going to eat and then we’re going to sleep._

Tail between his legs, John stood and nodded his head, standing by Sherlock’s side with his head ducked slightly.

Sherlock glanced at him, and John heard his mental sigh before there was a comforting rough tongue licking his ear. _Come on_ Sherlock repeated, gentler.

 _I’m sorry_ John said softly as they started walking. John didn’t know how far he’d gone from the Alpha house, and he knew he had probably worried a lot of people, but all he could think of right now was Sherlock.

_What happened?_

John shook his head, and told Sherlock, _I’ll tell you when we’re home and in the nest. I-I don’t think I can tell you without crying._

No doubt John would cry, but Sherlock would be there to comfort him, he knew that. Sherlock was always there for him and had never let him down before.

They slowly made their way back to the Alpha house. They simply walked, and it took them over an hour. John really had managed to find the furthest possibly spot to hide.

Inside, Greg was pacing in the living room, with Molly wringing her hands nervously and Mrs Hudson chattering on to Mike, obviously concerned as well. They’d all been worried for him. John’s heart gave a pang.

Molly was the first one to notice them, and stood up as John and Sherlock entered the house in their human form. Sherlock taken some towels from the laundry and they had them wrapped about their waist. Molly stood with a relieved smile, finally stopping wringing her hands, and then Greg’s head snapped around and he paused, before grinning widely.

“John,” Greg said in obvious relief, and stepped forward, wrapping John in a hug.

John took comfort from the contact of Sherlock’s second-in-command before stepping back and linking hands with Sherlock.

Greg inhaled, and then froze slightly, a look of shock crossing his expression and he started to ask, “John? Are you-“

He was cut off as Sherlock rumbled softly in warning. John looked up at Sherlock in confusion, and then looked back at Greg and gave a small smile, “I’m fine, if that’s what you were going to ask.”

Greg shot a look at Mike, who sat up straight and frowned slightly. John glanced at them, confused. Could they smell something on him? Could – could they smell the blood he’d thought he’d washed off?

John glanced down at himself, but he couldn’t see any. There was a slight bulge in his stomach, but that was probably because of all the food that he had been eating recently.

_Don’t worry about it, my dear. You know I’ll take care of you, always, yes?_

John glanced up at Sherlock with a smile. _I know_ , he assured Sherlock. Then, his stomach grumbled softly and he asked, _Can we eat? I really want some peaches right now._

Sherlock smiled. “Me and John are going to eat and then head to bed,” Sherlock told everyone, and they nodded and murmured their goodnights, seeming more subdued than they had at first.

 

* * *

 

 

Curled in bed, comfortably full, with Sherlock firmly wrapped around him, John told Sherlock everything that had happened in the battle, from the moment he’d slammed the wall down until Sherlock had found him once more. Several times he’d burst out crying and Sherlock had soothed him, rocking him gently, and John eventually gave up and just sent Sherlock images of what had happened and letting Sherlock prod through his memories until he was satisfied he knew everything.

 _You did well, John_ , Sherlock soothed, pressing sweet kisses to John’s face.

John couldn’t quite believe it. He’d murdered two wolves. Whilst they weren’t innocent, they were the first people John had ever killed. He wasn’t a battle-hardened warrior like Sherlock. He’d helped in a few battles here and there, but generally he just had good fighting instincts. He’d never killed.

Still, John took comfort in Sherlock’s warm body and his affection clearly flowing through from his mind to John’s. Eyes closed, John pressed his face into Sherlock’s neck. Sherlock pressed him close and murmured to him soothingly until John fell asleep, feeling safe in their nest with his mate pressed close against him.

 

* * *

 

 

John awoke alone, but that was alright. He was feeling much, much better. And the bed was still warm beside him. Rolling over, John’s gaze found the clock and he squinted to make out the clock hands. Blinking in shock, John realised that it was midday. Rolling out of bed, John took a quick shower and changed into some of the clean clothes of his, and jogged downstairs, following the wafting aroma of meat that was coming from the kitchen.

Smiling, John found Mrs Hudson in the kitchen. “Hello, Mrs Hudson,” John greeted cheerily, lifting the lid of a pot and taking a sniff, only to yelp slightly as his hand was smacked with a wooden spoon.

“You’ll have to wait until it’s done, just like everyone else,” Mrs Hudson warned with a slight smile, wagging her spoon at him warningly.

John put his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay,” he agreed with a soft chuckle. “Anything I can help with, then?”

“Yes, you can set the table for me. Knives and forks, dear,” she told him and John smiled at the elder wolf.

John went and grabbed the plates and cutlery they would need for lunch and went to the table, unsurprised to find Greg and Mike hanging around the dining room hopefully. Greg had a towel slung about his waist and twigs in his hair and dirt on his feet. “Lunch will be soon,” John told them, before half-glaring at Greg, “You’d better clean up before you track mud everywhere!”

Greg chuckled softly, “Yes, mother,” Greg teased, and held up his hands in surrender and padded off to go clean up.

John chuckled softly and continued setting out the table, glancing up as he felt Mike’s gaze on him. “What’s up?” John asked as he set down the final plate and looked around the table, nodding in satisfaction before turning his gaze to Mike.

“Sherlock seems happy,” Mike commented instead of answering his question.

“Does he?” John asked, pleased, “I didn’t get to see him this morning before he left. Though, it’s odd. I would’ve thought he would have been upset about Irene.”

Mike tilted his head to the side, “You can’t think of any reason he’d be happy?”

John thought for a moment, “There won’t be any more attacks on the borders?” John suggested, shrugging.

Mike frowned slightly, but before John could ask about why Mike was asking, strong arms were wrapping around him and a nose nuzzling his neck. John smiled and tilted his head, placing his hands on Sherlock’s forearms happily.

John loved all the affection he received. Thanks to his rather abusive upbringing, he hadn’t had any affection or love, but Sherlock gave him all that he needed.

“Hello,” John greeted warmly, shivering slightly as a kiss was placed on his neck.

“Mm,” Sherlock murmured softly. _You smell divine._

John chuckled softly and turned in Sherlock’s arms, placing his hands on Sherlock’s hips and stretching up, giving his mate a soft kiss.

 _Thank you_ , John responded, before pulling back and surveying Sherlock. He was wearing a suit as usual, and there was a leaf in his hair and smelt of the forest. He must have been on patrol with Greg. Smiling fondly, John reached up and plucked it. “You should go wash your hands,” John told Sherlock, “Lunch will be soon.”

Sherlock sighed, “Fine,” he agreed, and gave John a quick kiss before he moved off into the kitchen.

“John, dear! Come help hand out the food for me!” Mrs Hudson called, and John smiled, trotting off into the kitchen, happy to help.

John came back into the kitchen to find Greg dressed casually, and nice and clean, as well as Sherlock, who was sitting in his usual spot, as was Mike and Molly.

John smiled at them all warmly and starting serving the meat from the pot, giving everyone equal quantities, and then went back into the kitchen and returned with bread rolls and butter, giving everyone a roll and setting the rest on a plate on the table as well as the butter. Then John went back into the kitchen and returned with Mrs Hudson and the steamed vegetables. Greg and Sherlock pulled slight faces at the smell of the vegetables, but John ignored it and put vegetables on everyone’s plate, glaring at them when Sherlock and Greg looked like they were about to protest.

Nobody complained and John was pleased. Mrs Hudson had worked hard to put together this meal, and if anyone complained John would definitely have had to tell them off. Especially Sherlock, with his massive intellect, not liking vegetables was a bit silly.

Sitting down to eat, John waited until Sherlock had taken the first bite before starting to dig in like everyone else. It was delicious, as always, and John held no hesitation in telling Mrs Hudson so. Even though John had been here for a while, Mrs Hudson always blushed slightly and thanked him.

Glancing at Sherlock, John saw his mate watching him with a smile, and felt Sherlock send him a wave of affection. Smiling warmly, John brushed his foot lightly against Sherlock’s under the table, a gesture he was sure he would always do as it brought him a form of comfort and affection, and was sure that it did the same for Sherlock. At least, John hoped that it did.

John was the first to finish, which was rather unusual as John was usually one of the last because he liked to savour his meal. Oh well. Mike was watching John with an unusual look, as was Molly and Greg. Was there something going on here that he didn’t know about?

Deciding to shrug it off, John smiled and collected the dishes happily as the others chatted happily amongst each other. John waved Mrs Hudson off as she offered to help. John wanted to do this for her, for always making the best meals for them.

John came back out of the kitchen to find Mike having a fierce whispered conversation with Sherlock, frowns on both of their faces. They stopped the instant they noticed John, and John frowned slightly. Were they talking about him? Why would they do that? There was definitely something happening here. And it was about him. Why couldn’t they just tell him?

“When’s the next patrol?” John asked Greg with a smile as he walked over to the table, deciding that he would get it out of Sherlock later, one way or another.

“Half an hour,” Greg replied, giving John a slight smile.

“Sweet! Can I join?” John asked eagerly, only to have Greg hesitate and flicker a glance towards Mike and Sherlock.

“Don’t you want to stay in?” Sherlock asked.

“I think you should go. It’ll be good for you,” Mike said at the same time that Sherlock spoke.

Sherlock frowned and John chuckled softly, walking over to his mate and kissing his cheek. “I think I’ll listen to Mike, seeing as he _is_ a doctor,” John chuckled.

Sherlock sighed. “Be careful,” he said, turning his head and giving John a proper kiss.

“I always am,” John replied cheerily, “Come on, Greg, we can have a race before the patrol starts!”

 

* * *

 

 

John was sleeping, his face pressed against Sherlock’s neck and head tucked securely under Sherlock’s chin, his Alpha’s arms wrapped around him securely, when he stirred at a noise. “Mm, Sherlock?” John mumbled as he felt his mate stiffen and draw away slightly.

“Hush, my precious mate, I’ll deal with this.” Sherlock soothed gently, kissing his forehead tenderly and sending a wave of mental warmth towards him, which made John smile, “I’ll be right back. I promise.”

“Mm, ‘kay,” John agreed sleepily, kissing Sherlock’s neck gently and sighing as Sherlock and his warmth moved out of the bed and slipped out of the room.

Trusting Sherlock, despite the fact that he could hear and smell both Mike and Greg calling for Sherlock in angry tones, John slipped back into a peaceful sleep, only waking once more when Sherlock slipped back into the bed and wrapped around him once more.

 

* * *

 

When John woke, he realised that he hadn’t gotten Sherlock to tell him what all the fuss was about, and why all the secrets. Shrugging, deciding that it couldn’t be too important, John poked his head out of the nest and spotted Sherlock getting dressed, his movements slightly tense.

Glancing at the clock, John groaned softly. “Why are you up?” John questioned, “It’s only five am.”

Sherlock glanced over at him and smiled softly, walking over to John and crawling on top of him with the covers separating them and several items of clothing. “I woke up and wanted to bring you breakfast in bed. Thought I might make it myself,” Sherlock explained with a smile.

John chuckled lightly. “You sure know the way to my heart,” John told Sherlock in amusement.

“I would hope so,” Sherlock retorted playfully, before bending and pressing their lips into a gentle kiss.

“There’s not anything better you can think of doing right now?” John murmured as he tilted his head up into the kiss and lifting his arms up to wrap them about Sherlock’s neck and try and keep Sherlock close.

“Mm, I think you’ve got an idea,” Sherlock hummed in pleasure, pulling back from the kiss briefly to shuck the clothes he had put on and crawl into the nest with John, taking a moment to grab their lubrication before pulling the covers up over their heads and pressing their lips together once more.

 _Hands and knees. NOW._ Sherlock commanded, without pulling back from the kiss.

John gave a soft whimpering sound of pleasure, his cock jumping with interest as he tore his lips from Sherlock with a gasp and eagerly rolled onto his stomach, pressing his arse up into Sherlock’s stomach eagerly.

Sherlock chuckled lightly behind him, obviously pleased with John’s eagerness, and rubbed his cock against the cleft of John’s arse lightly, teasingly, until John whined and pressed back.

Sherlock was quick to prepare him, obviously needing John as much as John needed Sherlock right now.

Soon, Sherlock was thrusting into him and John moaned in pleasure, eyes closed and head tilting back. Sherlock had a hard grip on his hips and John knew it was going to leave bruises that he was going to be proud of later.

Panting and huffing and moaning freely, John thrust back into every one of Sherlock’s thrusts, and it wasn’t long before he was coming and slumping against the bed, his hips being held up by Sherlock.

Sherlock didn’t come just yet, drawing it out through the roughness of his thrusts didn’t let up. “One day,” Sherlock growled out as he thrust in and hit John’s sensitive prostate, causing John to whine but press back, “I’m going to take you like this, but as a wolf.”

John moaned at the thought, and sent Sherlock a mental image of Sherlock taking him as a wolf, with John writhing underneath him.

Sherlock growled out John’s name as he came, thrusting through it, and then slumping down on top of John as he bit at the back of John’s neck, claiming him visibly.

John hummed softly. _I love you_ , John sent Sherlock as he started slipping off to sleep with Sherlock still over him and in him.

 _I know. I love you too, John_ , Sherlock’s words and a wave of love were the last things John experienced before he drifted off into a content, blissful sleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so this wasn't how I originally for Moriarty and Irene to stop being a problem, but then this popped into my head and it was better than my original idea. Also, who knows what's going on with John? ;)


	11. Awkward Moment to Realise....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: squicky childbirth, wolf/man sex, cussing. 
> 
> I actually had to do research for this chapter. Turns out, wolf pregnancies only last for 63 days! And they have litters ranging from 4-10 pups at a time~!

John jerked awake at the sound of the bedroom door opening and the smell of two people that were definitely not his mate. John sat up, still mostly asleep, his arm curling around his middle as he snarled. His mate wasn’t in the nest, and John didn’t know where he was, all he knew was that he needed to protect.

“See? This definitely confirms it,” a familiar voice murmured as two faces stared at him from the doorway, “He isn’t even awake, but look at his posture.”

The second murmured a confirmation and John snarled again, curling around himself slightly as he glared at the intruders.

The bathroom door opened, and John’s head snapped around, only to relax as the comforting smell and body of his mate stepped out, frowning slightly as his Alpha inquired, “John, what-,” before cutting himself off and glaring at the intruders and snarling, “Out! Now!”

John relaxed as the door was hastily slammed and there was only him and Sherlock. John purred, incredibly pleased that his mate had protected him. “Thank you, my Alpha,” John purred out, stretching out on the bed.

Sherlock looked at him, and John could see the sudden interest in Sherlock’s eyes as he sniffed the air and smelt John’s growing arousal. “You’re welcome,” Sherlock murmured, walking over and sitting down on the edge of the bed, reaching out and running a hand through John’s hair.

John leant into the touch and his eyes half-closed with a pleased sigh. John pressed close to his mate, and Sherlock sighed regretfully. “I have to go, John,” Sherlock murmured.

John pouted and pressed his erection into Sherlock’s leg. He could smell Sherlock’s arousal filling the room, knew that his Alpha wanted him. “Is it more important than me?” John questioned softly.

Sherlock breathed in sharply, his eyes darkening with lust, and his hands cradled John’s face as he bent his head and whispered, “Never,” before pressing their lips together passionately.

John’s hands came up and rested on Sherlock’s shoulders, guiding his mate down on top of him as John lay down flat on the bed. He ran his hands down Sherlock’s shoulders, making a discontented noise as his fingers were met with fabric instead of the smooth muscles and bare skin. John tugged at the white button down shirt and Sherlock pulled away, straddling John’s hips as he hastily unbuttoned it and flung it aside.

John purred happily and reached up, touching over Sherlock’s gorgeous pale chest, and John squirmed eagerly. He had fallen asleep naked last night after their love making, and he wanted for Sherlock to be naked to. Why his mate had clothes on, John didn’t know and didn’t really care at this point. He just wanted his mate.

“You’re eager,” Sherlock hummed as he bent over and sucked possessive marks into John’s jaw.

“Always,” John breathed in response, his hands trailing down to Sherlock’s arse and pulling him forward slightly, sliding their erections together.

Sherlock groaned at the feel, and hastily stripped out of the rest of his clothes. John watched eagerly, cock fully hard as he watched Sherlock grab the jar of lubrication – which was running low by this point – and slithered down John’s body, putting John’s legs over his shoulders and opened the jar and then there were two fingers pressing into John, and the shorter werewolf moaned as he tilted his head back onto the bed.

John relaxed his body as Sherlock stretched him, hands clenching in the nest in pleasure. He seriously loved the feel of Sherlock inside of him, though his cock was preferable to fingers. John could tell Sherlock was impatient as the scent of John’s arousal grew thicker and wafted around the room. It wasn’t long before Sherlock was coating his cock in the lube and then closing the jar and setting it aside on the bedside table.

Sherlock grabbed John’s hips and tilted them up, and John wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist as he looked up at Sherlock, wrapping his arms around Sherlock’s neck and they groaned in unison as Sherlock thrust in.

“Fuck,” Sherlock swore, trembling slightly as he licked and nipped at John’s lips, who whined softly in agreement. “You’re still so tight, John, even after all this time.”

John panted out a soft laugh as he shifted his hips, urging Sherlock to start thrusting already. “That-that’s good, right?” John asked, moaning loudly as Sherlock finally started to thrust, hard and quick.

“Definitely,” Sherlock growled out as his grip on John’s hips tightened.

John took in the look of pure pleasure on Sherlock’s face and loved the sight of it as he rocked his hips back into each thrust.

Sherlock placed his hands by John’s head and grinned down at him, wildly, and before John could ask about it, John gasped as Sherlock started shifting without breaking the pace of his hips. John shuddered as he watched as Sherlock’s human body morphed into his wolf one.

Sherlock was rumbling from deep in his chest, and John threaded his fingers into the thick black fur, moaning as Sherlock’s fur dragged along his belly and chest with every thrust. Sherlock’s cock inside of him was shorter, but thicker. It was a wonderful new experience, and John tilted his head back in pleasure.

Sherlock’s snout came down and nuzzled at his neck. _You’re so gorgeous, John,_ Sherlock’s voice murmured inside of his head.

Sherlock licked and lightly nipped his way down John’s body as they both spiralled closer to their orgasms. Sherlock’s tongue laved over the slight swell of his belly, nuzzling too, and it wasn’t until Sherlock whined softly that John opened his eyes and stared down at him.

Sherlock didn’t seem to notice John’s attention focussed on him as Sherlock continued to tenderly lave affection to John’s belly, and the moment before John orgasmed, he realised – Sherlock was fucking _bonding_ , which meant that John was _pregnant._

John cried out as he came, shuddering hard, and it only took a few more thrusts before Sherlock was spilling into him as well. John lay there, panting hard and eyes closed as his mind whirled.

He was fucking pregnant. And Sherlock had known. Everything made sense now – the way Sherlock had grown more protective and possessive over him. The looks everyone had been shooting at him – they’d been able to smell it, goddammit. Greg’s question when John had returned after the battle ( _“John, are you-?”)_ and the way Sherlock had cut him off with a warning growl. John had thought Sherlock had been getting Greg to back off so John wouldn’t have to deal with what he’d done until they were safe in the nest, but that wasn’t it. Greg had been trying to ask if John was pregnant, and Sherlock had clearly known that. His mood swings and sudden cravings made sense. The way Mike had seemed to be taking more interest in him, and the other night when he’d heard the pack at their door and the scent of their anger and the way Sherlock had dealt with it. The odd look that Sherlock had been giving him John hadn’t known what it was.

Sherlock had known. Worse, Sherlock had been keeping it from him.

John was forced out of his thoughts as Sherlock pulled out and nuzzled John’s cheek before saying, somewhat regretfully as he transformed back, _I really have to go, John._

John blinked his eyes open and stared blankly at Sherlock before giving a small smile. _Uh, sure. When’ll you be back?_

_Lunch time, my dear._

John nodded, thinking. Plenty of time to visit the others, then. Sherlock slid off the bed and put on his shirt, glancing up at John as he buttoned up the shirt and tilted his head to the side. “You okay, John?” he asked worriedly.

John blinked rapidly, “Yeah, I’m fine. You wore me out, I think I’ll have to take a nap,” John said, weakly teasing, still in a slight state of shock.

Sherlock chuckled lowly and pulled on his pants and black trousers. “If you’re still asleep by the time I get back, I’ll wake you,” Sherlock promised with a smile.

John huffed a soft laugh and rolled over, closing his eyes and pretending to go back to sleep. He felt Sherlock lean over and kiss his cheek, but John didn’t react and waited until he heard Sherlock leave the room, and then the house. Sitting up, John rubbed a hand over his belly and sighed as he clambered out of the nest (another thing that now made sense) and quickly dressed. He needed to see Mike, now. He didn’t care that breakfast hadn’t even been served yet. What if he’d accidentally harmed their child whilst he was working or doing something else?

How had he not seen these signs earlier? He’d been a doctor’s assistance for years, for God’s sake! He’d seen his fair share of pregnancies.

Grumbling, John rubbed a hand over his face and made his way out of the room, shutting the door behind him, and trotted down the stairs quickly (that was going to be a pain once he got bigger) and sniffed the air, following the strongest scent of Mike to the pack doctor’s room.

He knocked on the door quietly, and waited. There was the sound of shuffling, and then Mike opened the door. He looked like he’d been awake for a while. He looked surprised to see John.

“John! Hello,” Mike said with a warm smile, “What can I do for you?”

John huffed, “I want you to check on the baby,” John said, gesturing to his stomach.

Mike was shocked into silence for a few moments. “He told you?” Mike asked, clearly shocked.

John shook his head angrily, “No, I figured it out.”

Mike offered him a small smile and gestured him inside, shutting the door once John was safely inside. “Lie down on the bed, and pull your shirt up and I’ll check for you,” Mike said.

“Thanks,” John said gratefully, going over and lying down on the bed and pulled his shirt up to his chest.

Mike went over and got his doctors kit before going over and perching on the side of the bed beside John. He got out his stethoscope and put it into his ears, placing the cold metal onto John’s stomach, who grimaced slightly.

Mike listened, moving it over his stomach with a serious expression. “Is my baby okay?” John asked, his voice wavering slightly.

Mike gave him a smile, and nodded, “Yes, _they_ are.”

John’s heart sped up, and he questioned, “They?”

Mike chuckled softly, “Yes, John. A litter of four, I believe. And they’re all fine.”

John pressed a trembling hand to his mouth, grinning. A litter of four of Sherlock’s pups. John gave a watery laugh.

“How far along am I?” John questioned.

“Only about three weeks, so roughly 21 days,” Mike responded.

John nodded. He was a third of the way, then. Roughly. Just like their wolf counterparts, a werewolf’s pregnancy only lasted about 63 days. “Anything I should avoid?” John questioned.

“No heavy lifting, so your job’s out of the question, don’t strain yourself with running and patrols, and make sure you eat well,” Mike responded, packing away his kit again. “Lift your shirt up more, I’m going to check your nipples. I need to make sure they’re okay. They’ll start lactating a week before the pups are born.”

John lifted his shirt up further and couldn’t help but blush at the hickies and bite marks around them. Mike chuckled, looking up at John in amusement as he felt over John’s nipples with the clinical touch of a professional doctor. “I’m a doctor, John, and Sherlock is extremely possessive. It’s perfectly normal for him to want to mark you. Also, your nipples will become more sensitive as your pregnancy progresses, so it’s only natural that Sherlock will want to pleasure you by them,” Mike explained, before sitting back with a satisfied nod.

“So, sex is okay?” John questioned, still red in the face but he tried to cool it.

Mike nodded. “Yeah. No harm will come to the pups. Just be aware that Sherlock will probably try and bond with the pups any time he can, so he may do that during sex.”

John nodded. “I know. That’s, uh, kind of how I figured it out.”

Mike laughed loudly, before clearing his throat and saying, “Right. Well, you’re all good, and breakfast will be ready soon.”

John nodded and pulled his shirt down and sat up and got off the bed. As he made to leave, Mike’s voice called him, making him pause with his hand on the door handle, “Hey, John. Are you okay? I’m asking as your friend, not your doctor.”

John took a deep breath. “Sort of. One thing’s for sure – I’m going to fucking murder Sherlock for keeping this from me.”

* * *

 

John spent the day getting angrier and angrier at his mate. How could Sherlock keep this from him? Why? What _possible_ excuse could he have for keeping this from him?

Finally, he was unable to keep it inside anymore, and he directed his anger into Sherlock’s mind.

_ Why did you keep this from me? What would have happened if I’d continued on working and injured our pups, Sherlock? Unknowingly keeping this from me, fine, I can deal with that, but, **no** _ ** ,  ** _ you kept this from me on purpose!  _

There was a momentary silence in response to John’s anger, and then:

_You know._

_ Of course I fucking know. Your such a piss-pot, Sherlock! I could have seriously injured myself and our pups! _

_I wouldn’t have let that happen._

_No, of course not. Because you’re the big bad Alpha and you can prevent fucking everything, can’t you? My bad, I forgot._ John snarked sarcastically.

 _John…_ Sherlock sighed.

_ You know what? Forget it. Just, forget that I said anything.  _

_Don’t be like this, John_ , Sherlock sounded frustrating.

_ I’ll act however the fuck I want. You were just going to let me carry on and blunder around with absolutely no knowledge that I was pregnant! _

_John_ , this time it was a warning growl.

_ Have I pissed you off? Good, because I’m fucking angry right now.  _

_Don’t make me threaten you, John, because I will._

_ With what? Are you going to kick out your mate and pup? Don’t even start that. You wouldn’t.  _

 There was a wordless snarl in response.

_ I thought so. If you want me to leave so badly, then fine, I’m gone. _

John slammed down the wall in his head and angrily paced outside of the Alpha house. He had no idea where Sherlock was, but John needed to do something to work off his anger. Work! He needed to tell them he had to stop.

Plan set, John blew out a breath and grabbed his shoes from inside and found Molly wandering past, and called out to her to tell everyone that he wouldn’t be there for lunch, before walking into town, slowly calming as he went but never lifting the wall from his mind. Sherlock could stew for today.

John went into his work and explained to his boss about his pregnancy, and thanked him as he understood and told John not to worry about it. His pay for last time would go through, and then if John ever wanted to come back, he would be allowed to.

After that, John had lunch in town. He spent his day roving about town, before wandering home, in a better mood but still plenty angry at Sherlock for keeping this from him.

He slipped off his shoes at the front door and wandered in wearing only his socks, and followed his nose into the kitchen. Everyone was already seated for dinner, and Sherlock’s head snapped up first as John entered. “Sorry I’m late,” John chuckled sheepishly.

“It’s quite alright, dear,” Mrs Hudson said, and got up, and into the kitchen and returned with a plate of food for John.

“Hungry?” Greg questioned as he watched John practically drool at the sight of the lamb and vegetables.

“Starved,” John said honestly as he sat down.

He could feel Sherlock’s gaze on him, and John flickered him a glance before focussing back on his food as he started eating eagerly.

He felt calm wash over him as he listened to his pack mates talking and laughing comfortably as they ate. John joined in the conversation from time to time.

John scooped up his and Sherlock’s plates once they were finished and headed into the kitchen to help Mrs Hudson with the washing.

Once that was done and everything was put away, John headed back out, surprised to see Sherlock looking a little lost as he stood by the table. He looked up as John came back out, looking hopeful, and John softened instantly, striding over to him and dropping the wall as he cupped Sherlock’s cheek before stretching up for a kiss.

_I’m sorry._

_ I know. Me too. _

_Please don’t shut me out like that again. I hate it when we fight, and I hate it even more when you’re mad at me._

John smiled against Sherlock’s lips and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s neck. He pulled back and looked up at Sherlock with a serious expression. “You shouldn’t have kept it from me,” John said gently.

Sherlock sighed. “I know. I was just trying to keep you safe.”

John dragged a hand down Sherlock’s arm and interlaced their fingers together. “Come on, let’s head up to bed. I’m tired,” John said, tugging Sherlock in the direction of the stairs that lead up to their room.

“Okay,” Sherlock agreed, following John up the stairs.

“Shower?” John suggested as they got to their room, inhaling the comforting scent of the both of them combined with sex and sweat and sleepiness. It was a lovely scent and it made John relaxed instantly.

Sherlock nodded, and they went and showered quickly before returning back to the nest and cuddling in under the blankets, bringing them up over their heads and snuggling together, Sherlock spooning John from behind with his hands on John’s belly and his chin on top of John’s head. It was extremely comfortable, and John loved it.

* * *

 

*42 days later*

John woke, gripping his large stomach and groaning as he rolled onto his other side, closer into Sherlock’s embrace. He whined as another pain gripped him, and Sherlock woke, nuzzling into John as he sleepily opened his eyes.

“John?” he mumbled, “What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know,” John whined, curling in on himself and gasping as wetness leaked down his thighs and his eyes went wide. “I’m going into labour!”

Sherlock froze at the words, and chucked the blankets off of them, gently rolling John over again and moved down his body, sniffing at the wet patch on John’s pant and exhaling in relief. “You smell healthy. I’ll get Mike, okay? Stay right here and don’t move,” Sherlock instructed.

“Don’t leave me,” John whimpered, reaching out and latching onto his mate’s arm.

Sherlock wavered as he stared at John’s hopeful face, and nodded, making John relax, and Sherlock tipped back his head and howled. It wasn’t as powerful or strong as it would be when he was a wolf, but it worked well enough. Within moments, there was the thundering of feet racing up to their room, Greg bursting in first, followed by Mike whilst Molly and Mrs Hudson hovered by the door.

“John’s waters broke,” Sherlock told them, and John clutched at Sherlock’s hand tightly.

Mike nodded and moved forward. “We’ll need to keep him hydrated. Also, John, you should shift before the pups come, it’ll be easier on both you and the pups,” Mike said, voice softening as he addressed John.

John grunted and moved over before transformed into his wolf form, groaning as another pain wracked through him. Sherlock moved over and placed John’s head in his lap, running a hand through John’s fur on his neck soothingly. John closed his eyes as Mike moved over to his rear and shifted his tail out of the way and put on gloves before prodding at John’s arse.

Greg moved over to the edge of the bed, placing down several bottles of water, and then moved back and they shut the door softly to give John his privacy whilst he gave birth.

Mike whistled and chuckled softly, “They’re coming quick. You must have slept through most the contractions.”

 _How long? Ask how long._ John demanded Sherlock, whining and nuzzling into his mate’s stomach for comfort.

“How long will it take?” Sherlock questioned Mike.

“Less than an hour,” Mike responded, making John sigh in relief.

* * *

 

John lay panting, four healthy pups at his chest, two of them suckling at his breasts, the other two squirming at his belly. He was still in his wolf form, and so were his babies. John was ready to fall asleep, but he had to make sure their pups were taken care of. John had nipped off each of their umbilical cords and removed the sack surrounding them with his teeth. His pups were wet, fur slicked, but John had licked all of them clean before curling around them on the bed, finally growling at Mike to shoo him from the nest. He didn’t want anyone but Sherlock near him and their pups whilst they were so vulnerable.

 _Tell Mike thanks for me._ John said, eyes closed as he nudged his feeding pups away from his teats and nudged the other two to take hold and feed.

 _I will_. Sherlock promised, transforming into his wolf form and curling so that their noses were brushing and tails resting together. John relaxed and licked his mate’s muzzle, letting the pups be curled up between the warmth of their parent’s bodies. Exhausted, John slipped off into sleep.

* * *

 

John woke as his pups squirmed and whined, and nuzzled them tenderly, nudging two of them to feed and soothed the other two by washing them tenderly. They stayed closer to John than Sherlock, but that was probably only because John was the mother and the one with all the milk.

Sherlock was still sleeping, his breathing soft and even. Pleased that his mate and Alpha was resting, John turned his attention back to his gorgeous pups. Two were black like Sherlock, one sandy coloured like John, and the other light brown. They were all completely and utterly perfect to John.

Once the two at his teats detached, John nudged the other two into position. He was running mostly on instinct as to what to do, but it was serving him pretty damn well. John bathed the other two with his tongue.

They had three boys and one girl. John was going to do his best to be the best parent he could to them, and be the exact opposite of his own father. John would do his best to give them everything he could but wouldn’t let them be spoiled brats.

John looked up as Sherlock made a noise, and found Sherlock looking at him with a soft expression.

John pressed their noises together tenderly and watched as Sherlock smiled at him. John knew that he would be spending most of his time in wolf form, until his pups were old enough to transform into their human forms – which wouldn’t be for a few weeks, but John would manage.

 _I love you_ , Sherlock said into his mind as he groomed John’s face tenderly with his tongue.

 _You better,_ John teased, _I just gave birth to four of your pups._

Sherlock laughed softly into his mind, and gazed at their pups warmly, licking each of them tenderly.

They squirmed before settling. Their ears and eyes would be shut until they were two weeks old, and by that age they’d be able to walk on four paws as well as transform.

 _I’m hungry. Can you get some deer or just any kind of meat? Please?_ John asked hopefully.

 _Of course, my dear, I’ll be right back,_ Sherlock promised, getting up and transforming into his human form and pulled on some pants and tenderly kissed John’s furry forehead before leaving the room to go and get John some food.

By the time Sherlock had arrived, all of the pups were fed and nuzzling into John’s belly and settling down to sleep once more. John looked up, mouth watering at the scent of cooked deer. He looked at the large chunk of meat in Sherlock’s hands and he couldn’t stop a whine escaping him.

Sherlock chuckled softly at John’s response and carefully clambered onto the bed and set the meat down in front of John, who half-sat up and eagerly dug into the meat.

He had meat over his muzzle when he’d finished, and John licked it off with his tongue before settling back fully onto his side, tail curling instinctively around his pups.

* * *

 

John woke up every time the pups did, feeding them in turns of two, and Sherlock stayed by his side as he nursed the pups, and they both took turns cleaning them. Cleaning the pups soothed John’s nerves, whilst it built a stronger bond for Sherlock.

John didn’t feel comfortable with anyone entering their room but Sherlock, not even Mike. He would probably continue to feel this way until they could open their eyes and stumble around.

Sherlock’s strong presence comforted John, helping him to feel safe and protected. He knew that his Alpha wouldn’t let anything bad happen to him or the pups. Once, Molly tried to enter, and John had snarled at her whilst Sherlock had leapt off the bed to stalk over to the door. She’d quickly backed away after that and no one else had tried to enter since then. It was a good thing.

Meals were placed outside their door at regular three-hour intervals. John needed the food to help keep his milk flowing.

John couldn’t wait until he finally got to see what his beautiful babies looked like as humans, when their eyes were open and they could stumble about on four paws. Their human bodies would take longer to learn how to walk and sit, so it was sure they’d mostly stay in their wolf form to run about and create a mess and cause trouble. John couldn’t wait. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, so, this is the last official chapter! The next one will be the epilogue! I know it's taken two months for me to get this chapter out, but I was having some issues, but it's all good now :) School starts up again next week, but I'll do my best to write up the epilogue for you guys!! 
> 
> Love you all very much <3


	12. Epilogue

**Five Years Later**

“Elizabeth!” John shouted, thundering down the stairs after his five year old little girl, her brothers trailing behind John, sniggering, as he huffed, cuddling the two youngest – only two years old – against his chest and above his baby bump.

Sherlock was out on patrol, and John was left looking after their rambunctious litter of now six but soon to be eleven. Unlike his dreams of having a little princess, Elizabeth was the most cheeky of the lot. Rosie and Saphira – his two little ones – were still sweet and cuddly, but they were Sherlock’s little girls, as was Tyler and Elizabeth. However, Jack and Tristan were completely John’s little boys.

Growling in frustration, John watched Elizabeth duck behind Mrs Hudson with a yelp and clutch at the elderly wolf’s dress. Mrs Hudson looked at John and laughed, saying, “Sorry, deary, I can’t help,” to Elizabeth.

Then, she stepped aside, exposing Elizabeth, and John stalked forward, crouching with a soft grunt in front of her. “Apologize to Tyler, Elizabeth,” John demanded.

She pouted and John sighed in frustration. “You aren’t allowed to use your brother’s clothes as chew-toys,” John explained with a semblance of patience.

She looked down, then up at Tyler and mumbled, “Sorry, Ty, I won’t do it again.”

Tyler huffed, crossing his arms, but there was a smile crossing his chubby face, and John knew all was well between the siblings once more. “Good girl, Elizabeth. Come here, honey, give me a hug. I’m sorry for shouting earlier,” John said, shifting Saphira onto his knee and wrapped his now-free arm around Elizabeth with a smile as she flung her arms around him in return and nuzzled into his neck.

Once she pulled back, he kissed her head and stood. “Come on, pups, lunch!” John declared, scooping Saphira back into his arm and put both her and Rosie into their high chairs, and then helped Elizabeth, Tyler, Jack and Tristan into their own chair – big chair kids – and then helped Mrs Hudson dish out lunch to everyone.

He made sure all of his six pups got equal portions and had enough greens on their plates before sitting down, rubbing at his belly.

 _This is the last litter I’m having_ , John huffed mentally with amusement.

 _The pups getting troublesome, my dear? They are at that age, now._ Sherlock chuckled, and John knew he was on his way, but would probably arrive after everyone finished eating.

 _I’ll snack later,_ Sherlock said after dipping into John’s thoughts, _You can take a nap and I’ll care for the pups._

John gave a mental sigh of relief. He loved his pups, he well and truly did, but they could be a bit much at times.

John was about to reply, but had to snap at Tyler to eat his vegetable, and then at Jack to not pull faces at his siblings.

 _That would be fantastic_ , John hummed. _Make sure you keep a close eye on Beth, okay? She’s in a cheeky mood._

 _She’ll listen to me. You know she always does. Don’t worry, John. I have everything covered_ , Sherlock assured him.

_ I know. _

Meals were always a messy affair, and John could hardly go a few bites without having to scold one of his pups for something, or to tell of Greg for egging them on. He’d adopted the role of Uncle, and they loved him as he always let them get away with most things.

Sighing in fond exasperation, John looked down in slight surprise as Jack squeezed onto his lap and looked up at him with the big puppy eyes he knew Sherlock had been teaching them, and asked, “Mummy?”

To avoid confusion with having things like ‘daddy and papa’ they’d decided that John could be mother and Sherlock father. It was true enough, except for John’s gender but that didn’t matter. It was a lot easier.

“Yes, Jack?” John asked, setting down his knife and wrapping an arm around his little – but not so little, too – boy.

“Can we go for a run with daddy when he gets home?” Jack asked, and instantly there were six sets of puppy eyes trained on him and John blinked.

Greg stifled a snicker, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Good luck with that, mate.”

John shot his friend a stern look before gazing around at his pups and sighing with a smile. “Okay,” John conceded, but before they could celebrate their victory, he added, “ _But_ , only if you finish of your entire plates! Every one of you!”

After that, the pups were too busy finishing off their food to cause trouble, and John scooped up their dishes when they were done and helped Mrs Hudson clean.

John knew the instant Sherlock arrived home, sweeping into the room with a wide grin and taking in the sight of his mate and pups with a look of loving pride, and then proceeded to scoop all of them into his arms as they lunged at him – even the little ones – and twirled them around, causing giggles to come from their little mouths as they clutched their father.

He’d changed a lot, John thought fondly as he watched from the doorway, leaning against the frame. At first, when the pups had arrived, Sherlock had freaked and worried over every little thing, being too protective. Now, he was much more relaxed and everyone was a lot happier.

Sherlock spotted John, and set down their pups – to many whines of complaint – and strode over to John, wrapping his long limbs around him and pressing him tenderly close as he bent and kissed John sweetly.

John hummed into the kiss, closing his eyes, knowing their pups were watching with interest, and he broke away after a short while, smiling warmly up at Sherlock. “Don’t go too far into the forest, okay?” John said, worried, knowing little Saphira and Rosie wouldn’t last long and would need to return home long before their older siblings tired.

Sherlock smiled, teeth flashing and eyes crinkling in the corners. “I’ll return Rosie and Saphira when they get tired, and keep playing with the pups until they’re ready to come home again,” Sherlock assured him. Then, his Alpha kissed his forehead and instructed, “Now, get some sleep, my dear mate, everything will be fine.”

John nodded, and extracted himself, giving each of his pups a kiss and a hug before heading upstairs with one last look back before heading into the bedroom and crawling into the now-permanent nest and closing his eyes, slipping into a peaceful sleep.

* * *

 

John awoke many hours to find all six pups in the bed with him, curled in between himself and Sherlock. John gazed at all of them, a feeling of total and complete love swelling inside of him. Sherlock stirred slightly in his sleep, and tightened his grip on the pups curling into him, which made them grumble softly before everyone settled back down into sleep.

These afternoon naps weren’t all that uncommon. Sherlock always managed to wear out both the pups and himself, and it was a pity, because the time the pups were asleep were basically the only time they had to be properly alone. Soon, the pups would get their own rooms (as soon as all the changes were done to the Alpha house) and then John and Sherlock would be alone until the pups were born and then they’d have to wait until they were all grown up and moved out of the room.

John had been anxious about the pups being too far away, so Sherlock was getting the rooms in the upper layer with them all child-proof and suitable for their pups before they let their children move into them.

Sighing, John smiled warmly and cuddled closer, content. Everything was perfect, and he knew that he would always be safe right here. This was his home, with Sherlock and their pups. And here he would stay.

Forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's it. Just a short epilogue to end the story properly! My first full story and now its over! Thank you to everyone who commented (even if I didn't respond, every comment was dearly appreciated and helped me motivate myself to continue writing) and left kudos or merely read! Thank you to the new readers and those who've been here since the beginning! I'll miss this, but it's unlikely I'll do a sequel. Fan art or covers are very welcome if you feel like doing so! 
> 
> Thank you to everyone, and I love each and every one of you who made it to the end of my story (even though I've been dodgy about updates, I know). Lots of love for the future. Also, if anyone wants to print it off or have their own copy, I have a version in word that's prettier so just tell me you want it and give me your email and I'll send it to you. :)


	13. Additional Information

Hey guys, this is just a chapter to fill in some blanks that I couldn't cover in the story thanks to it being in John's POV. 

 

A lot of people seem to have some misconceptions about some things that went on or were alluded to, so I decided to clear up some information. I could have done this in the author notes at the end of the last chapter, but I decided to do this instead. 

 

So, in the first chapter, when Sherlock hands John fruit and John's pack-mates glare at him, that's because Sherlock was courting John. He was providing food (hence why all the fruit is described as 'perfect' most of the time. 

  
Also, John's pack-mates from his father's pack do not stop John from being beaten because John's father is the Alpha and if they did stand up to him, either they would get severely punished or kicked out of the pack. 

 

 

Second chapter: Some one asked if Greg wanted to mate with Sherlock and that was why he was angry with John, but no, that's not the case. Lestrade is suspicious of John because John just suddenly appears with no warning and is seems to be very close to John. Lestrade is protective by nature, so obviously he would want to make sure that Sherlock isn't being used or going to get hurt. 

  
When John goes down to get a drink and Lestrade appears, when he lifts his hand at John, it is not to strike at John. Lestrade was going to wave his hand in front of John's face as John had gone very pale and fear was wafting off of him so strongly that it had woken Sherlock had sent him down to find the cause of his mate's fear. 

 

 

Fourth chapter: Mycroft is a protective older brother, and all he wants to do is care for his little brother, even though Sherlock isn't so little anymore. Someone once wanted to know how Sherlock ended up with his own pack, and this is what I imagine: Sherlock, being a dominant and natural-born Alpha, would have gotten sick of being under his father's rule, and therefore broke away from the pack and took a few trusted friends with him (Lestrade and Molly). Along the way to finding his own lands, he met up with others, saved Mrs Hudson from her abusive mate, found his own land and settled down. 

 

 

Sixth chapter: I know it may seem a bit weird for some people to understand why John sudden gets suspicious of Sherlock, but if you were treated like crap and abused for your whole life, I'm sure you too would find it hard to accept it so easily. John is already beginning to love Sherlock by this point, but old habits (and suspicions) die hard, so he gets a little wary and suspicious of Sherlock. But, Sherlock (of course) notices and messes up his hair further to give John and excuse to calm himself down and be reassured that this is real and that Sherlock does care for him. 

 

 

Chapter Seven: Right, about Irene - Sherlock does not cheat on John! Some people seemed to believe that Sherlock slept with her or something to the like, but that is  _not_ true! What Sherlock is doing is pretending to go along with her to gather information and try to persuade Irene to persuade her mate to stop the attacks. Despite Sherlock's pack being new, he cares deeply for all of his pack-mates and hates seeing them being harmed, hence why he lets Irene lead him around. He is well aware that she is toying with him, but he is trying his best. Also, because of their history as friends from when they were little, Sherlock is trying to reconcile with her so that she may be more tempted to stop the attacks on his pack. 

 

 

Chapter eight: I realise that in the beginning I said that Lestrade lives in the Alpha house, and this is true, and yet in this chapter I mention that he has a house of his own with no explanation. Because Lestrade is second in command, he does live in the pack house, but he also bought his own house so that he can have some space to himself (also, so he can have some alone time with Molly ;) )

 

 

Chapter twelve: I know some people think that John and Sherlock had an awful lot of children, but you have to remember that they are werewolves and normal standards don't apply. Yes, they have eleven pups together, but don't forget that John conceives in litters instead of in single or twins as humans do, so it's a bit hit and miss with the whole number of pups in a litter. They had four the first time, and then two, and then five. A lot of pups, and they don't have any more after that as eleven is an awful lot. 

 

 

I hope that clears some things up for you guys! If you have any more questions, send me a message and I'll get back to you ASAP or update this chapter to include it :) 


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